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OF  THE 

Theological    Seminary, 

PRINCETON,    N.  J. 
.«"*^'/, X'=^7.    / See      . 

^ooA^, ^/...» Y No 

•     — '^— v^f 


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THOMAS  REID,  D.  D.  F.  K.  S. 

EDINBUECH. 

LATE  PROFESSOR  OF  MORAL  PHILOSOPHY  IN  THE  UNIVERSITY  OF  GLASGOW- 

WITH   AN 

ACCOUNT  OF  HIS  LIFE  AND  WRITINGS, 

BY  DUGALD  STEWART,  F.  R.  S. 
WITH  NOTES,  BY  tHE  AMERICAN  EDITORS. 

IN  FOUR   VOIUMES VOL.    IV. 

CHARLESTOWN, 

PRINTED  AND  PUBLISHED  BY  SAMUEL ETHERIDGE,  JUNR. 

♦♦♦♦♦♦♦t 

1815. 


CONTENTS 


OF   THE   rOURTH   YOliUltlfii 


ESSAYS  ON  THE  POWERS  OF  THE  HUMAN 
MIND. 

tSSAY  II. 

OF    THE  WILL. 

Ghkp.  Page- 

A        I.  Observations  concernihgf  the  will        ^        .....       5 
II.  Of  the  influence  of  incitements  and  motives  UpGn  the  will         -     13 

III.  Of  opcratioDS  of  mind  which  may  be  called  voiuntaij-  -         24 
tv.  Corollaries            -            -            -            -            -            -         -         S6 

ftSSAY  lit. 

OF    THE    PRINCIPLES    OF    ACTION. 
t'ART  1.    OF  THE  MECHANICAL  PRINGIPLES  OF  ACTiON. 

i.  Of  the  principles  of  action  in  general        -  -  .  i^ 

II.  Of  instinct  .---...48 

ill.  Of  habit  -  -  -  -  -  .  =  63 

ESSAY  Hi. 
PART  II.    OF  ANIMAL  PRINCIPLES  OF  ACTION. 

I.  Of  appetites  -  -  -  .  -  -        *         66 

II.  Of  desires         .  -  -~-..^.jq 

III.  Of  benevolent  afTection  in  general  ...  .  gg 

IV.  Of  the  particular  benevolent  aft'ections         .         .  -         -        93 
V.  Of  malevolent  affection         -            -            .            .  -  no 

VI.  Of  passioLQ  .......  123 

vii    Of  disposition         -  •  .  -        -  .  .  135 

vni.  Of  opinion  -  -        .  .  ...  141 


IV  CONTENTS. 

ESSAY  III. 
PART  III.    OF  THE  RATIONAL  PRINCIPLES  OF  ACTION. 

Chap.  Page. 

I.  There  are  rational  principles  of  action  in  man         -            -  148 

11.  Of  regard  toour  g<iod  on  the  whole             ....  152 

I J  I.  The  tendency  of  thib  principle             .            -            -          .  159 

IV.  Defects  of  this  principle              .....  154 

V.  Of  the  notion  of  duty,  rectitude,  moral  obligation             -  170 

VI.  Of  the  sense  of  duty              .....  179 

VII.  of  moral  approbation  and  disapprobation            ...  I86 

VIII.  Observations  concerning  conscience            ....  194 

ESSAY  IV. 

OF    THE    LIBERTY    OF    MORAL    AGENTS. 

I.  The  notions  of  moral  liberty  and  necessity  stated        -         -  207 

II.  Of  the  words  cause  and  effect,  action,  and  active  power       -  215 

III    Causes  of  the  ambiguity  of  those  words            -        -            -  221 

IV.  Of  the  influence  of  motives        -            ....  231 

V.   Liberty  consistent  with  government        ...            .  242 

VI.  First  argument  for  liberty         .....  252 

VII.  Second  argument        ....            .        .            .  263 

VIII.  Third  argument          .---.-  269 

IX.  Of  arguments  for  necessity         -         ....            .  274 

X.  The  same  subject        -             ......  287 

XI.  Of  the  permission  of  evil             -              -             -              -  295 

ESSAY  V. 

OF  MORALS. 

I.  Of  the  first  principles  of  morals        ....  308 

II.  Of  systems  of  morals             -            -         -            ...  319 

III.  Of  systems  of  natural  jurisprudence             ....  335 
IV.   Whether  an    action  deserving  moral    approbation,  must   be 

doiie  with  the  belief  of  its  b^ing  morally  good          -            .  335 

V.  Whether  justice  be  a  natural  or  an  artificial  virtue             -  348 

VI.  Of  the  nature  and  obligation  of  a  contract          ...  333 

vii.  That  moral  approbation  implies  a  real  judgment        -        -  405 


ESSAYS 

ON 

THE  ACTIVE  POWERS 

OF    THE 

HUMAN  MIND. 

ESSAY  II. 
OF  THE   WILL. 


CHAP.  I. 

,   OBSERVATIONS  CONCERNING  THE  WIIL. 

EvEBT  man  is  conscious  of  a  power  to  determine,  in 
things  which  he  conceives  to  depend  upon  his  determi- 
nation. [Note  A.]  To  this  power  we  give  the  name  of 
will;  and,  as  it  is  usual,  in  the  operations  of  the  mind, 
to  give  the  same  name  to  the  power  and  to  the  act  of 
that  power,  the  term  will  is  often  put  to  signify  the  act 
of  determining,  which  more  properly  is  called  volitioiu 

Volition,  therefore,  signifies  the  act  of  willing  and 
determining ;  and  will  is  put  indifferently  to  signify 
either  the  power  of  willing  or  the  act. 

But  the  term  will  has  very  often,  especially  in  the 
writings  of  philosophers,  a  more  extensive  meaning, 

vox.  jv.  3 


b  ESSAY   II. 

Avhich  we  must  carefully  distinguish  from  that  which 
we  have  now  given. 

In  the  general  division  of  our  faculties  into  under- 
standing and  will,  our  passions,  appetites,  and  affec- 
tions, are  comprehended  under  the  will ;  and  so  it  is 
made  to  signify,  not  only  our  determination  to  act  or 
not  to  act,  but  every  motive  and  incifement  to  action. 

It  is  tliis,  probably,  that  has  led  some  philosophers 
to  represent  desire,  aversion,  hope,  fear,  joy,  sorrows 
all  our  appetites,  passions,  and  affections,  as  different 
modifications  of  the  willj  which,  I  think,  tends  to  con- 
found things  which  are  very  different  in  their  nature. 

The  advice  given  to  a  man,  and  his  determination 
consequent  to  that  advice,  are  things  so  different  ia 
their  nature,  that  it  would  be  improper  to  call  them 
modifications  of  one  and  the  same  thing.  In  like  man- 
ner, the  motives  to  action,  and  the  determination  to  act 
or  not  to  act,  are  things  that  have  no  common  nature, 
and  therefore  ought  not  to  be  confounded  under  one 
name,  or  represented  as  different  modifications  of  the 
same  thing. 

For  this  reason,  in  speaking  of  the  will  in  this  Essay, 
I  do  not  comprehend  under  that  term  any  of  the  in- 
citements or  motives  which  may  have  an  influence  upon 
our  determinations,  but  solely  the  determination  itself, 
and  the  power  to  determine. 

Mr.  Locke  has  considered  this  operation  of  the  mind 
more  attentively,  and  distinguished  it  more  accurately, 
than  some  very  ingenious  authors  who  wrote  after  him. 

He  defines  volition  to  be,  *♦  An  act  of  the  mind,  know- 
ingly exerting  that  dominion  it  takes  itself  to  have  over 
any  part  of  the  man,  by  employing  it  in,  or  withhold- 
ing it  from  any  particular  action." 

It  may  more  briefly  be  defined.  The  determination 
of  the  mind  to  do,  or  not  to  do  something  which  we 
conceive  to  be  in  our  power. 

If  this  were  given  as  a  strictly  logical  definition,  it 
would  be  liable  to  this  objection,  that  the  determination 


OBSERVATIONS    CONCERNING   THE    Will.  7 

of  the  mind  is  only  another  term  for  volition.  But  it 
ought  to  be  observed,  that  the  most  simple  acts  of  the 
mind  do  not  admit  of  a  logical  definition.  The  way  to 
form  a^lear  notion  of  them  is,  to  reflect  attentively  upon 
them  as  we  feel  them  in  ourselves.  Without  this  re- 
i9ection,  no  definition  can  give  us  a  distinct  conception 
of  them. 

For  this  reason,  rather  than  sift  any  definition  of  the 
will,  I  shall  make  some  observations  upon  it,  which 
may  lead  us  to  reflect  upon  it,  and  to  distinguish  it 
from  other  acts  of  oiind,  which,  from  the  ambiguity  of 
words,  are  apt  to  be  confounded  with  it. 

1st,  Every  act  of  will  must  have  an  object.  He  that 
wills  must  will  something;  and  that  which  he  wills 
is  called  the  object  of  his  volition.  As  a  man  cannot 
think  without  thinking  of  something,  nor  remember 
without  remembering  something,  so  neither  can  he 
will  without  willing  something.  Every  act  of  will, 
therefore,  must  have  an  object ;  and  the  person  who 
wills  must  have  some  conception,  more  or  less  distinct, 
of  what  he  wills. 

By  this,  things  done  voluntarily  are  distinguished 
from  things  done  merely  from  instinct,  or  merely  from 
habit. 

A  healthy  child,  some  hours  after  its  hirth,  feels  the 
sensation  of  hunger,  and,  if  applied  to  the  breast,  sucks 
and  swallows  its  food  very  perfectly.  We  have  no  rea- 
son to  think,  that,  before  it  ever  sucked,  it  has  any 
conception  of  that  complex  operation,  or  how  it  is  per- 
formed. It  cannot,  therefore,  with  propriety,  be  said, 
that  it  wills  to  suck. 

Numberless  instances  might  be  given  of  things  done 
by  animals,  without  any  previous  conception  of  what 
they  are  to  do ;  without  the  intention  of  doing  it. 
They  act  by  some  inward  blind  impulse,  of  which  the 
efficient  cause  is  hid  from  us  ^  and  though  there  is  ai; 


8  ESSAY  II. 

end  evidently  intended  by  the  aefiony  this  intention  is 
not  in  the  animal,  but  in  its  Maker. 

Other  things  are  done  by  habit,  which  cannot  prop- 
erly be  called  voluntary.  We  shut  our  eyes  several 
times  every  minute  while  we  are  awake ;  no  man  is 
conscious  of  willing  this  every  time  he  does  it.  • 

A  second  observation  is,  That  the  immediate  object 
of  will  must  be  some  action  of  our  own. 

By  this,  will  iis  distinguished  from  two  acts  of  the 
mind,  which  someiimes  take  its  name,  and  thereby  are 
apt  to  be  confounded  with  it ;  these  are  desire  and 
command. 

The  distinction  between  will  and  desire  has  been 
well  explained  by  Mr.  Locke  ;  yet  many  later  writers 
have  overlooked  it,  and  have  represented  desire  as  a 
nioditieation  of  will. 

Desire  and  will  agree  in  this,  that  both  must  have 
an  object,  of  which  we  must  have  some  conception ;  and 
therefore  both  must  be  accompanied  with  some  degree 
of  understanding.     But  they  differ  in  several  things. 

The  object  of  desire  may  be  any  thing  which  appe- 
tite, passion,  or  affection,  leads  us  to  pursue  ;  it  may  be 
any  event  which  we  think  good  for  us,  or  for  those  to 
whom  we  are  well  affected.  I  may  desire  meat,  op 
drink,  or  ease  from  pain :  but  to  say  that  I  will  meat, 
or  will  drink,  or  will  ease  from  pain,  is  not  English. 
There  is  therefore  a  distinction  in  common  language 
between  desire  and  will.  And  the  distinction  is,  that 
what  we  will  must  be  an  action,  and  our  own  action  ; 
what  we  desire  may  not  be  our  own  action,  it  may  be 
no  action  at  all. 

A  man  desires  that  his  children  may  be  happy,  and 
that  they  may  behave  well.  Their  being  happy  is  no 
action  at  all ',  their  behaving  well  is  not  his  action  but 
theirs. 


OBSERVATIONS  CONCERNING  THE  WlLI,     9 

With  regard  to  our  own  actions,  we  may  desire  what 
we  do  not  will,  and  will  what  we  do  not  desire  ;  nay, 
what  we  have  a  great  aversion  to.     [Note  B.] 

A  man  athirst  has  a  strong  desire  to  drink,  but,  for 
some  particular  reason,  he  determines  not  to  gratify 
his  desire.  A  judge,  from  a  regard  to  justice,  and  to 
the  duty  of  his  office,  dooms  a  criminal  to  die,  while, 
from  humanity  or  particular  affection,  he  desires  that 
he  shouhl  live.  A  man  for  health  may  take  a  nause- 
ous draught,  for  which  he  has  no  desire  but  a  great 
aversion.  Desire  therefore,  even  when  its  object  is 
some  action  of  our  own,  is  only  an  incitement  to  will, 
but  it  is  not  volition.  The  determination  of  the  mind 
may  be,  not  to  do  what  we  desire  to  do.  But  as  desire 
is  often  accompanied  by  will,  we  are  apt  to  overlook 
the  distinction  between  them. 

The  command  of  a  person  is  sometimes  called  his 
•will,  sometimes  his  desire ;  but  when  these  words  are 
used  properly,  they  signify  three  different  acts  of  the 
mind. 

The  immediate  object  of  will  is  some  action  of  our 
own ;  the  object  of  a  command  is  some  action  of  anoth- 
er person,  over  whom  we  claim  authority ;  the  object 
of  d/psire  may  be  no  action  at  all. 

In  giving  a  command  all  these  acts  concur ;  and  as 
they  go  together,  it  is  not  uncommon  in  language,  to 
give  to  one  the  name  which  properly  belongs  to  another. 
A  command  being  a  voluntary  action,  there  must  be 
a  will  to  give  the  command.  Some  desire  is  commonly 
the  motive  to  that  act  or  will,  and  the  command  is  the 
effect  of  it. 

Perhaps  it  may  be  thought  that  a  command  is  only 
a  desire  expressed  by  language,  that  the  thing  com- 
manded should  be  done.  But  it  is  not  so.  For  a  de- 
sire may  be  expressed  by  language  when  there  is  no 
command  j  and  there  may  possibly  be  a  command  with- 


10  ESSAY    II. 

out  any  desire  that  the  thing  commanded  should  be 
done.  There  have  been  instances  of  tyrants  >vho  have 
laid  grievous  commands  upon  their  subjects,  in  order 
to  reap  the  penalty  of  their  disobedience,  or  to  furnish 
a  pretence  for  their  punishment. 

"We  might  further  observe,  that  a  command  is  a  so- 
cial act  of  the  mind.  It  can  have  no  existence  but 
by  a  communication  of  thought  to  some  intelligent 
being ;  and  therefore  implies  a  belief  that  there  is  such 
a  being,  aud  that  we  can  communicate  our  thoughts  to 
faim. 

Desire  and  will  are  solitary  acts,  which  do  not  imply 
any  such  communication  or  belief. 

The  immediate  object  of  volition  therefore,  must  be 
some  action,  and  our  own  action. 

A  third  observation  is.  That  the  object  of  our  voli- 
tion must  be  something  which  we  believe  to  be  in  our 
power,  and  to  depend  upon  our  will. 

A  man  may  desire  to  make  a  visit  to  the  moon,  oi* 
to  the  planet  Jupiter,  but  he  cannot  will  or  determine 
to  do  it ;  because  he  knows  it  is  not  in  his  power.  If 
an  insane  person  should  make  an  attempt,  his  insanity 
must  first  make  him  believe  it  to  be  in  his  power. 

A  man  in  his  sleep  may  be  struck  with  a  palsy,  which 
deprives  him  of  the  power  of  speech  ;  when  he  awakes, 
lie  attempts  to  speak,  not  knowing  that  he  has  lost  the 
power.  But  when  he  knows  by  experience  that  the 
poAver  is  gone,  he  ceases  to  make  the  effort. 

The  same  man,  knowing  that  some  persons  have  re- 
covered the  power  of  speech  after  they  had  lost  it  by 
a  paralytical  stroke,  may  now  and  then  make  an  effort. 
In  this  effort,  however,  there  is  not  properly  a  will  to 
speak,  but  a  will  to  try  whether  he  can  speak  or  not. 

In  like  manner,  a  man  may  exert  his  strength  to 
raise  a  weight,  which  is  too  heavy  for  him.  But  he 
alwavs  does  this,  either  from  the  belief  that  he  can 


OBSERVATIONS    CONCERNING   THE    WILL.  11 

raise  the  weight,  or  for  a  trial  whether  he  can  or  not. 
It  is  evident  therefore,  that  what  we  will  must  be  be- 
lieved to  be  in  our  power,  and  to  depend  upon  our  will. 
The  next  observation  is.  That  when  we  will  to  do  a 
thing  immediately,  (he  volition  is  accompanied  with  an 
effort  to  execute  that  which  we  willed.     [Note  C] 

If  a  man  wills  to  raise  a  great  weight  from  the  ground 
by  the  strength  of  his  arm,  he  makes  an  effort  for  that 
purpose  proportioned  to  the  weight  he  determines  to 
raise.  A  great  weight  requires  a  great  effort ;  a  small 
weight  a  less  effort.  We  say,  indeed,  that  to  raise  a  very 
small  body  requires  no  effort  at  all.  But  this,  I  ap- 
prehend, must  be  understood  either  as  a  figurative 
way  of  speaking,  by  which  things  very  small  are  ac- 
counted as  nothing,  or  it  is  owing  to  our  giving  no  at- 
tention to  very  small  efforts,  and  therefore  having  no 
name  for  them. 

Great  efforts,  whether  of  body  or  mind,  are  attend- 
ed with  difficulty,  and  when  long  continued  produce 
lassitude,  which  requires  that  they  should  be  intermit- 
ted. This  leads  us  to  reflect  upon  them,  and  to  give 
them  a  name.  The  name  effort  is  commonly  appro- 
priated to  them ;  and  those  that  are  made  with  ease^ 
and  leave  no  sensible  effect,  pass  without  observation 
and  without  a  name,  though  they  be  of  the  same  kind, 
and  differ  only  in  degree  from  those  to  which  the  name 
is  given. 

This  effort  we  are  conscious  of,  if  we  will  but  give 
attention  to  it ;  and  there  is  nothing  in  which  we  are  in 
a  more  strict  sense  active. 

The  last  observation  is.  That  in  all  determinations 
of  the  mind  that  are  of  any  importance,  there  must  be 
something  in  the  preceding  state  of  the  mind  that  dis- 
poses  or  inclines  us  to  that  determination.     [Note  D.] 

If  the  mind  were  always  in  a  state  of  perfect  indif- 
ference, without  any  incitement,  motive,  or  reason,  to 
act,  or  not  to  act,  to  act  one  way  rather  than  another^ 


12  ESSAY   II. 

our  active  power,  havin.e:  no  end  to  pursue,  no  rule  to 
direct  its  exertions,  would  be  given  in  vain.  We  should 
either  be  altogether  inactive,  and  never  will  to  do  any 
thing,  or  our  volitions  would  be  perfectly  unmeaning 
and  futile,  being  neither  wise  nor  foolish,  virtuous  nor 
vicious. 

"We  have  reason  therefore  to  think,  that  to  every  be- 
ing to  whom  God  has  given  any  degree  of  active  pow- 
er, he  has  also  given  some  principles  of  action,  for 
the  direction  of  that  power  to  the  end  for  which  it  was 
intended. 

It  is  evident  that,  in  the  constitution  of  man.  there 
are  various  principles  of  action  suised  to  our  state  and 
situation.  A  particular  consideration  of  these  is  the 
^  subject  of  the  next  Essay  ;  in  this  we  are  only  to  con- 
sider them  in  general,  witli  a  view  to  examine  the  rela- 
tion they  bear  to  volitioD^  and  how  it  is  influenced  by 
them. 


INFLUENCE   OF   MOTIVES    UPON   THE    WILL.      13 


CHAP.  II. 

OF    THE    INFLUENCE    OF  INCITEMENTS    AND    MOTIVES    UPON 
THE    AVILL. 

We  come  into  the  world  ignorant  of  every  thing,  yet 
we  must  do  many  things  in  order  to  our  subsistence 
and  well  being.  A  new  born  child  may  be  carried  in 
arms,  and  kept  warm  by  his  nurse ;  but  he  must  suck 
and  swallow  his  food  for  himself.  And  this  must  be 
done  before  he  has  any  conception  of  sucking  or  swal- 
lowing, or  of  the  manner  in  which  they  are  to  be  per- 
formed. He  is  led  by  nature  to  do  these  actions  with- 
out knowing  for  what  end,  or  what  he  is  about.  This 
we  call  instinct. 

In  many  cases  there  is  no  time  for  voluntary  deter- 
mination. The  motions  must  go  on  so  rapidly,  that 
the  conception  and  volition  of  every  movement  cannot 
keep  pace  with  them.  In  some  cases  of  this  kind,  in- 
stinct, in  others  habit,  comes  in  to  our  aid. 

When  a  man  stumbles  and  loses  his  balance,  the 
motion  necessary  to  prevent  his  fall  would  come  too 
late,  if  it  were  the  consequence  of  thinking  what  is  fit 
to  be  done,  and  making  a  voluntary  effort  for  that  pur- 
pose.    He  does  this  instinctively. 

When  a  man  beats  a  drum  or  plays  a  tune,  he  has 
not  lime  to  direct  every  particular  beat  or  stop,  by  a 
voluntary  determination ;  but  the  habit  which  may  be 
acquired  by  exercise,  answers  the  purpose  as  well. 

By  instinct,  therefore,  and  by  habit,  we  do  many 
things  without  any  exercise  either  of  judgment  or  will. 

la  other  actions,  the  will  is  exerted,  but  without 
judgment. 

Suppose  a  man  to  know  that,  in  order  to  live,  he 
must  eat.    What  shall  he  eat  ?  How  much  ?  And  how 

vox.   IV.  3 


14  ESSAY   II. 

often  ?  His  reason  can  answer  none  of  these  questions  f 
and  therefore  can  give  no  direction  how  he  should  de- 
termine. Here  again  nature,  as  an  indulgent  parent, 
supplies  the  defects  of  his  reason;  giving  hrm  appetite, 
which  shows  him  when  he  is  to  eat,  how  often,  and  how 
much ;  and  taste,  which  informs  him  what  he  is,  and 
what  he  is  not  to  eat.  And  by  these  principles  he  is 
much  better  directed  than  he  could  be  without  them, 
bj  all  the  knowledge  he  can  acqnire. 

As  the  Author  of  nature  has  given  us  some  princi- 
ples of  action  to  supply  the  defects  of  our  knowledge, 
he  has  given  others  to  supply  the  defects  of  our  wisdom 
and  virtue. 

The  natural  desires,  affections,  and  passions,  which 
are  common  to  the  wise  and  to  the  foolish,  to  the  vir- 
tuous and  to  the  vicious,  and  even  to  the  more  saga- 
cious brutes,  serve  very  often  to  direct  the  course  of 
human  actions.  By  these  principles  men  may  perform 
the  most  laborious  duties  of  life,  without  any  regard  to 
duty ;  and  do  what  is  proper  to  be  done,  without  regard 
to  propriety ;  like  a  vessel  that  is  carried  on  in  her 
proper  course  by  a  prosperous  gale,  without  the  skill 
or  judgment  of  those  that  are  aboard. 

Appetite,  affection,  or  passion,  give  an  impulse  to  a 
certain  action.  In  this  impulse  there  is  no  judgment 
implied.  It  may  be  weak  or  strong  ;  we  can  even  con- 
ceive it  irresistible.  In  the  case  of  madness  it  is  so. 
Madmen  have  their  appetites  and  passions  ;  but  they 
want  the  power  of  self  government ;  and  therefore  we 
do  not  impute  their  actions  to  the  man  but  to  the  disease. 
[Note  E.] 

In  actions  that  proceed  from  appetite  or  passion,  we 
are  passive  in  part,  and  only  in  part  active.  They 
are  therefore  partly  imputed  to  the  passion;  and  if  it 
is  supposed  to  be  irresistible,  we  do  not  impute  them  to 
the  man  at  all. 


INFI.UENCE    OF   MOTIVES   UPON  THE    WILt.         15 

Even  an  American  savage  judges  in  tliis  manner: 
When  in  a  fit  of  drunkenness  he  kills  his  friend  :  as 
soon  as  he  comes  to  himself^  he  is  very  sorry  for  what 
he  has  done ;  but  pleads  that  drink,  and  not  he,  was 
the  cause.     [Note  F.] 

We  conceive  brute  animals  to  have  no  superior  prin- 
ciple to  control  their  appetites  and  passions.  On  this 
account,  their  actions  are  not  subject  to  law.  Men  are 
in  a  like  state  in  infancy,  in  madness,  and  in  the  deliri- 
um of  a  fever.  They  have  appetites  and  passions,  but 
they  want  that  which  makes  them  moral  agents,  ac- 
countable for  their  conduct,  and  objects  of  moral  ap- 
probation or  of  blame. 

In  some  cases,  a  stronger  impulse  of  appetite  or  pas- 
sion may  oppose  a  weaker.  Here  also  there  may  be 
determination  and  action  without  judgment. 

Suppose  a  soldier  ordered  to  mount  a  breach,  and 
certain  of  present  death  if  he  retreats,  this  man  needs 
not  courage  to  go  on,  fear  is  sufficient.  The  certain- 
ty of  present  death  if  he  retreats,  is  an  overbalance  to 
the  probability  of  being  killed  if  he  goes  on.  The  man 
is  pushed  by  contrary  forces,  and  it  requires  neither 
judgment  nor  exertion  to  yield  to  the  strongest. 

A  hungry  dog  acts  by  the  same  principle,  if  meat  is 
set  before  him,  with  a  threatening  to  beat  him  if  he  touch 
it.  Hunger  pushes  him  forward,  fear  pushes  him  back 
with  more  force,  and  the  strongest  force  prevails. 

Thus  we  see,  that,  in  many,  even  of  our  voluntary 
actions,  we  may  act  from  the  impulse  of  appetite,  affec- 
tion, or  passion,  without  any  exercise  of  judgment,  and 
much  in  the  same  manner  as  brute  animals  seem  to 
act. 

Sometimes,  however,  there  is  a  calm  in  the  mind 
from  the  gales  of  passion  or  appetite,  and  the  man  is 
left  to  work  hii  way,  in  the  voyage  of  life,  without 


16  ESSAY   II. 

those  impulses  which  they  give.  Then  he  calmly 
weighs  goods  and  evils,  which  are  at  too  great  a  dis- 
tance to  exeile  any  passion.  He  judges  what  is  best 
upon  the  whole,  without  feeling  any  bias  drawing  him 
to  one  side.  He  judges  for  himself  as  he  would  do  for 
another  in  his  situation  ;  and  the  determination  is  whol- 
ly imputable  to  the  man,  and  not  in  any  degree  to  his 
passion. 

Every  man  come  to  years  of  understanding,  who  has 
given  any  attention  to  his  own  conduct,  and  to  that  of 
others,  has,  in  his  mind,  a  scale  or  measure  of  goods 
and  evils,  more  or  less  exact.  He  makes  an  estimate 
of  the  value  of  health,  of  reputation,  of  riches,  of 
pleasure,  of  virtue,  of  self-approbation,  and  of  the  appro- 
bation of  his  Maker.  These  things,  and  their  contra- 
ries, have  a  comparative  importance  in  his  cool  and  de- 
liberate judgment. 

When  a  man  considers  whether  health  ought  to  be 
preferred  to  bodily  strength,  fame  to  riches ;  whether 
a  good  conscience  and  the  approbation  of  his  Maker,  to 
every  thing  that  can  come  in  competition  with  it ;  this 
appears  to  me  to  be  an  exercise  of  judgment,  and  not 
any  impulse  of  passion  or  appetite. 

Every  thing  worthy  of  pursuit,  must  be  so,  either 
intrinsically,  and  upon  its  own  account,  or  as  the  means 
of  procuring  something  that  is  intrinsically  valuable. 
That  it  is  by  judgment  that  we  discern  the  fitness  of 
means  for  attaining  an  end  is  self-evident;  and  in  this, 
I  think  all  philosophers  agree.  But  that  it  is  the  office 
of  judginent  to  appreciate  the  value  of  an  end,  or  the 
preference  due  to  one  end  above  another,  is  not  granted 
by  some  philosophers. 

In  determining  what  is  good  or  ill,  and,  of  different 
goods,  which  is  best,  they  think  we  must  be  guid-' 
ed,  not  by  judgment,  but  by  some  natural  or  acquir- 
ed taste,  which  makes  us  relish  one  thing  and  dislike 
another. 


INFLUENCE    OF   MOTIVES    UPON   THE    WILL.         17 

Thus,  if  one  man  prefers  cheese  (o  lobsters,  another 
lobsters  to  cheese,  it  is  vain,  say  they,  to  apply  judg- 
ment to  determine  which  is  right.  In  like  manner,  if 
one  man  prefers  pleasure  to  virtue,  another  virtue  to 
pleasure,  this  is  a  matter  of  taste,  judgment  has  noth- 
ing to  do  in  it.  This  seems  to  be  the  opinion  of  some 
philosophers. 

I  cannot  help  being  of  a  contrary  opinion.  I  think 
we  may  form  a  judgment  both  in  the  question  about 
cheese  and  lobsters,  and  in  the  more  important  question 
about  pleasure  and  virtue. 

When  one  man  feels  a  more  agreeable  relish  in 
cheese,  another  in  lobsters,  this,  1  grant,  requires  no 
judgment;  it  depends  only  upon  the  constitution  of  the 
palate.  But,  if  v>e  would  determine  which  of  the  two 
has  the  best  taste,  I  think  the  question  must  be  deter- 
mined by  judgment ;  and  that,  with  a  small  share  of 
this  faculty,  we  may  give  a  very  certain  determination^ 
to  wit,  that  the  two  tastes  are  equally  good,  and  that 
both  of  the  persons  do  equally  well,  in  preferring  what 
suits  their  palate  and  their  stomach. 

Nay,  1  apprehend,  that  the  two  persons  who  differ 
in  their  taste  will,  notwithstanding  that  difference,  agree 
perfectly  in  their  judgment,  that  both  tastes  are  upon 
a  footing  of  equality,  and  that  neither  has  a  just  claim 
to  preference. 

Thus  it  appears,  that,  in  this  instance,  the  office  of 
taste  is  very  different  from  that  of  judgment ;  and  that 
men,  who  differ  most  in  taste,  may  agree  perfectly  in 
their  judgment,  even  with  respect  to  the  tastes  wherein 
they  differ. 

To  make  the  other  case  parallel  with  this,  it  must 
be  supposed,  that  the  man  of  pleasure  and  the  man  of 
virtue  agree  in  their  judgment,  and  that  neither  sees 
any  reason  to  prefer  the  one  course  of  life  to  the  other. 

If  this  be  supposed,  I  shall  grant,  that  neither  of 
these  persons  has  reason  to  condemn  the  other.     Each 


18  ESSAY   11. 

chooses  according  io  his  taste,  in  matters   vvhich  his 
best  judgment  determines  to  be  perfectly  indifferent. 

But  it  is  to  be  observed,  that  this  supposition  cannot 
have  place,  when  we  speak  of  men,  or  indeed  of  moral 
agents.  The  man  who  is  incapable  of  perceiving  the 
obligation  of  virtue,  when  he  uses  his  best  judgment, 
is  a  man  in  name,  but  not  in  reality.  He  is  incapable 
cither  of  virtue  or  vice,  and  is  not  a  moral  agent. 

Even  the  man  of  pleasure,  when  his  judgment  is  un- 
biassed, sees,  that  there  are  certain  things  which  a  man 
ought  not  to  do,  though  he  should  have  a  taste  for 
them.  If  a  thief  breaks  into  his  house  and  carries  off 
his  goods,  he  is  perfectly  convinced  that  he  did  wrong 
and  deserves  punishment,  although  he  had  as  strong  a 
relish  for  the  goods  as  he  himself  has  for  the  pleasures 
he  pursues. 

It  is  evident,  that  mankind,  in  all  ages,  have  con- 
eeived  two  parts  in  the  human  constitution  that  may 
have  influence  upon  our  voluntary  actions.  These  we 
call  by  the  general  names  of  passion  and  reason  ;  and 
vie  shall  find,  in  all  languages,  names  that  are  equiva- 
lent. 

Under  the  former,  we  comprehend  various  principles 
of  action,  similar  to  those  we  observe  in  brute  animals, 
and  in  men  who  have  not  the  use  of  reason.  Appe-' 
tites,  affeclionSf  passions,  are  the  names  by  which  they 
are  denominated  ;  and  these  names  are  not  so  accu- 
rately distinguished  in  common  language,  but  that 
they  are  used  somewhat  promiscuously.  This,  how- 
ever, is  common  to  them  all,  that  they  draw  a  man  to- 
ward a  certain  object,  without  any  further  view,  by  a 
kind  of  violence ;  a  violence  which  indeed  may  be  re- 
sisted if  the  man  is  master  of  himself,  but  cannot  be 
resisted  without  a  struggle. 

Cicero's  phrase  for  expressing  their  influence  is^ 
*<  Hominem  hue  ct  illuc  rapiunt."  Dr.  Hutcheson 
uses  a  similar  phrase,  **  Quibus  agitatur  mens  et  bruto 


HffltJENCE    OF   MOTIVES   TIPON   THE   WILL.         19 

quodam  impetii  fertur."  There  is  no  exercise  of  rea- 
son  or  judgment  necessary  in  order  to  feel  their  influ- 
ence. 

"With  regard  to  this  part  of  the  human  constitution, 
I  see  no  difference  between  the  vulgar  and  philosopher^. 

As  to  the  other  part  of  our  constitution  which  is 
commonly  called  reason,  as  opposed  to  passion,  there 
have  been  very  subtile  disputes  among  modern  philoso- 
phers, whether  it  ought  to  be  called  reasoih  or  be  not 
rather  some  internal  sense  or  taste. 

Whether  it  ought  to  be  called  reason,  o^  ^y  what 
other  name,  I  do  not  here  inquire,  but  what  kind  of 
influence  it  has  upon  our  voluntary  actions. 

As  to  this  point,  I  think,  all  men  must  allow,  that 
this  is  the  manly  part  of  our  constitution,  the  other  the 
brute  part.  This  operates  in  a  calm  and  dispassionate 
manner;  a  manner  so  like  to  judgment  or  reason,  that 
even  those  who  do  not  allow  it  to  be  called  by  that 
name,  endeavour  to  account  for  its  having  always  had 
the  name ;  because,  in  the  manner  of  its  operation,  it 
has  a  similitude  to  reason. 

As  the  similitude  between  this  principle  and  reason 
has  led  mankind  to  give  it  that  name,  so  the  dissimili- 
tude between  it  and  passion  has  led  them  to  set  the 
two  in  opposition.  They  have  considered  this  cool 
principle,  as  having  an  influence  upon  our  actions  so 
different  from  passion,  that  what  a  man  does  coolly 
and  deliberately,  without  passion,  is  imputed  solely  to 
the  man,  whether  it  have  merit  or  demerit ;  whereas, 
what  he  does  from  passion  is  imputed  in  part  to  the 
passion.  If  the  passion  be  conceived  to  be  irresistible, 
the  action  is  imputed  solely  to  it,  and  not  at  all  to  the 
man.  If  he  had  power  to  resist,  and  ought  to  have 
resisted,  we  blame  him  for  not  doing  his  duty  ;  but,  in 
proportion  to  the  violence  of  the  passion,  the  fault  is 
alleviated. 


20  ESSAY  II. 

Bj  this  cool  principle,  we  judge  what  ends  are  most 
worthy  to  be  pursued,  how  far  every  appetite  and  pas- 
sion may  be  indulged,  and  when  it  ought  to  be  resisted. 

It  directs  us,  not  only  to  resist  the  impulse  of  passion 
when  it  would  lead  us  wrong,  but  to  avoid  the  occa- 
sions of  inflaming  it ;  like  Cyrus,  who  refused  to  see 
the  beautiful  captive  princess.  In  this  he  acted  the 
part  both  of  a  wise  and  a  good  man  ;  firm  in  the  love 
of  virtue,  and,  at  the  same  time,  conscious  of  the  weak- 
ness of  human  nature,  and  unwilling  to  put  it  to  too 
severe  a  trial.  In  this  case,  the  youth  of  Cyrus,  the 
incomparable  beauty  of  his  captive,  and  every  circum- 
stance which  tended  to  inflame  his  desire^  exalts  the 
merit  of  bis  conduct  in  resisting  it. 

It  is  in  such  actions  that  the  superiority  of  human 
nature  appears,  and  the  specific  difTerence  between  it 
and  that  of  brutes.  In  them  we  may  observe  one  pas- 
sion combating  another,  and  the  strongest  prevailing; 
but  we  perceive  no  calm  principle  in  their  constitution 
that  is  superior  to  every  passion,  aud  able  to  give  law 
to  it. 

The  difierence  between'  these  two  parts  of  our  con- 
stitution may  be  further  illustrated  by  an  instance  or 
two  wherein  passion  prevails. 

If  a  man,  upon  great  provocation,  strike  another 
when  he  ought  to  keep  the  peace,  he  blames  himself 
for  what  he  did,  and  acknowledges  that  he  ought  not 
to  have  yielded  to  his  passion.  Every  other  person 
agrees  with  his  sober  judgment.  They  think  he  did 
Trrong  in  yielding  to  his  passion,  when  be  might  and 
ought  to  have  resisted  its  impulse.  If  they  thought  it 
impossible  to  bear  the  provocation,  they  would  not 
blame  him  at  all  ;  but  believing  that  it  was  in  his 
power,  and  was  his  duty,  they  impute  to  him  some  de- 
gree of  blame,  acknowledging,  at  the  same  time,  that 
it  is  alleviated  in  proportion  to  the  provocatioo ;  so 


IJVFLUENCE   OF   MOTIVES   UPON   THE   WILL.        21 

ihat  the  trespass  is  imputed,  partly  to  the  man,  and 
partly  to  the  passion.  But,  if  a  man  deliberately  con- 
ceives a  design  of  mischief  against  his  neighbour,  con- 
trives the  means,  and  executes  it,  the  action  admits  of 
no  alleviation,  it  is  perfectly  voluntary,  and  he  bears 
the  whole  guilt  of  the  evil  intended  and  done. 

If  a  man,  by  the  agony  of  the  rack,  is  made  to  dis- 
close a  secret  of  importance,  with  which  he  is  intrust- 
ed, we  pity  him  more  than  we  blame  him.  We  con- 
sider, that  such  is  the  weakness  of  human  nature,  that 
the  resolution,  even  of  a  good  man,  might  be  overcome 
by  such  a  trial.  But  if  he  have  strength  of  mind, 
which  even  the  agony  of  the  rack  could  not  subdue,  we 
admire  his  fortitude  as  truly  heroical. 

Thus,  I  think,  it  appears,  that  the  common  sense  of 
inen,  which,  in  matters  of  common  life,  ought  to  have 
great  authority,  has  led  them  to  distinguish  two  parts 
in  the  human  constitution,  which  have  influence  upon 
our  voluntary  determinations.  There  is  an  irrational 
part,  common  to  us  with  brute  animals,  consisting  of 
appetites,  affections,  and  passions ;  and  there  is  a  cool 
and  rational  part.  The  first,  in  many  cases,  gives  a 
strong  impulse,  but  without  judgment,  and  without 
authority.  The  second  is  always  accompanied  with 
authority.  All  wisdom  and  virtue  consist  in  following 
its  dictates ;  all  vice  and  folly  in  disobeying  them.  We 
may  resist  the  impulses  of  appetite  and  passion,  not 
only  without  regret,  but  with  self-applause  and  tri- 
umph ;  but  the  calls  of  reason  and  duty  can  never  be 
resisted,  without  remorse  and  self-condemnation. 

The  ancient  philosophers  agreed  with  the  vulgar,  in 
making  this  distinction  of  the  principles  of  action. 
The  irrational  part,  the  Greeks  called  o'p.wjj.  Cicero 
calls  it  appetitus,  taking  that  word  in  an  extensive 
sense,  so  as  to  include  every  propensity  to  action  which 
is  not  grounded  on  judgment. 
V0J-.  IV.  4. 


22  ESSAY   II. 

The  other  principle  the  Greeks  called  voy? ;  Plato 
calls  it  the  yfyyi/xovMov,  or  leading  principle.  "  Duplex 
enim  est  vis  animoriim  atque  natures"  says  Cicero, 
"  ^ma  pars  in  appetitu  posita  est,  qiice,  est  0ffA,v\  Greece, 
quce  hominem  hue  et  illuc  rapit ;  altera  in  ratione,  quce 
docetf  et  explanatf  quid  faciendum  fugiendumve  sit  ; 
itajit  ut  ratio  prcesit,  appetitus  oUemperet.'* 

The  reason  of  explaining  this  distinction  here  is, 
that  these  two  principles  influence  the  will  in  different 
"ways.  Their  influence  differs,  not  in  degree  only,  but 
in  kind.  This  difference  we  feel,  though  it  may  be 
difficult  to  find  words  to  express  it.  "We  may  perhaps 
more  easily  form  a  notion  of  it  by  a  similitude. 

It  is  one  thing  to  push  a  man  from  one  part  of  the 
room  to  another  ;  it  is  a  thing  of  a  very  different  na- 
ture to  use  arguments  to  persuade  him  to  leave  his 
place,  and  go  to  another.  He  may  yield  to  the  force 
which  pushes  him,  without  any  exercise  of  his  rational 
faculties ;  nay,  he  must  yield  to  it,  if  he  do  not  op- 
pose an  equal  or  a  greater  force.  His  liberty  is  im- 
paired in  some  degree  ;  and,  if  he  has  not  power  suf- 
ficient to  oppose,  his  liberty  is  quite  taken  away,  and 
the  motion  cannot  be  imputed  to  him  at  all.  The  in- 
fluence of  appetite  or  passion  seems  to  me  to  be  very 
like  to  this.  If  the  passion  be  supposed  irresistible, 
we  impute  the  action  to  it  solely,  and  not  to  the  man. 
If  he  had  power  to  resist,  but  yields  after  a  struggle, 
we  impute  the  action,  partly  to  the  man,  and  partly  to 
the  passion. 

If  we  attend  to  the  other  case,  when  the  man  is  on- 
ly urged  by  arguments  to  leave  his  place,  this  resem- 
bles the  operation  of  the  cool  or  rational  principle. 
It  is  evident,  that,  whether  he  yields  to  the  arguments 
or  not,  the  determination  is  wholly  his  own  act,  and  is 
entirely  to  be  imputed  to  him.  Arguments,  whatever 
be  the  degree  of  their  strength,  diminish  not  a  man's 


INFIUENCE  OF  MOTIVES    UPON   THE   WILL.        2S 

liberty ;  they  may  produce  a  cool  conviction  of  what: 
we  ought  to  do,  and  they  can  do  no  more.  But  appe- 
tite and  passion  give  an  impulse  to  act  and  impair  lib- 
erty, in  proportion  to  their  strength.    [Note  G.] 

With  most  men,  the  impulse  of  passion  is  more 
effectual  than  bare  conviction ;  and,  on  this  account, 
orators,  who  would  persuade,  find  it  necessary  to 
address  the  passions,  as  well  as  to  convince  the  un- 
derstanding ;  and,  in  all  systems  of  rhetoric,  these 
two  have  been  considered  as  different  intentions  of 
the  oratop;  and  to  be  accomplished  by  different  means. 


2i  ESSAX    II. 


CHAP.  III. 

OJ"  OPERATIONS  OK    MIND    WIIIGH    MAY    BE    CALLED    VOLUN-» 
TARY. 

The  faculties  of  understanding  and  will  are  easily 
distinguished  in  thought,  but  very  rarely,  if  ever,  dis- 
joined in  operation. 

In  most,  perhaps  in  all  the  operations  of  mind  fotr 
which  we  have  names  in  language,  both  faculties  are 
employed,  and  we  are  both  intellective  and  active. 

Whether  it  be  possible  that  intelligence  may  exist 
without  some  degree  of  activity,  or  impossible,  is  per- 
haps beyond  the  reach  of  our  faculties  to  determine  ; 
but,  I  apprehend,  that,  in  fact,  they  are  always  con- 
joined in  the  operations  of  our  minds. 

It  is  probable,  I  think,  that  there  is  some  degree  of 
activity  in  those  operations  which  we  refer  to  the  un- 
derstanding ;  accordingly,  they  have  always,  and  in  all 
languages,  been  expressed  by  active  verbs ;  as,  1  see, 
I  hear,  I  remember,  I  apprehend,  I  judge,  I  reason. 
And  it  is  certain,  that  every  act  of  will  must  be  accom- 
panied by  some  operation  of  the  understanding ;  for 
lie  that  wills,  must  apprehend  what  he  wills,  and  appre- 
hension belongs  to  the  understanding. 

The  operations  I  am  to  consider  in  this  chapter,  I 
think,  have  commonly  been  referred  to  the  understand- 
ing; but  we  shall  find  that  the  will  has  so  great  a  share 
in  them,  that  they  may,  with  propriety,  be  called  volun- 
tary. They  are  these  three,  attentiorif  deliberation, 
■jLnd  fixed  purposef  or  resolution. 

Attention  may  be  given  to  any  object,  either  of  sense 
or  of  intellect,  in  order  to  form  a  distinct  notion  of  it, 
or  to  discover  its  nature,  its  attributes,  or  its  relations, 
and  so  great  is  the  effect  of  attention^  that,  v/ithout  it? 


OF   VOIUNTARY   OrEKATIONS.  25 

it  is  impossible  to  acquire  or  retain  a  distinct  notion  of 
any  object  of  thought. 

If  a  man  hear  a  discourse  without  attention,  what 
does  he  carry  away  with  him  ?  If  he  sees  St.  Peter's  or 
the  Vatican  without  attention,  what  account  can  he 
give  of  it?  While  two  persons  are  engaged  in  interest- 
ing discourse,  the  clock  strikes  within  their  hearing, 
to  which  they  give  no  attention ;  what  is  the  conse- 
quence ?  The  next  minute  they  know  not  whether  the 
clock  struck  or  not.  Yet  their  ears  were  not  shut. 
The  usual  impression  was  made  upon  the  organ  of 
hearing,  and  upon  the  auditory  nerve  and  brain  ',  but 
from  inattention  the  sound  either  was  not  perceived, 
or  passed  in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye,  without  leaving 
the  least  vestige  in  the  memory. 

A  man  sees  not  what  is  before  his  eyes  when  his  mind 
is  occupied  about  another  object.  In  the  tumult  of  a 
battle  a  man  may  be  shot  through  the  body  without 
knowing  any  thing  of  the  matter,  till  he  discover  it  by 
the  loss  of  blood  or  of  strength. 

The  most  acute  sensation  of  pain  may  be  deadened, 
if  the  attention  can  be  vigorously  directed  to  another 
object'.  A  gentleman  of  my  acquaintance,  in  the 
agony*  of  a  fit  of  the  gout,  used  to  call  for  a  chess- 
board. As  he  was  fond  of  that  game,  he  acknowl- 
edged that,  as  the  game  advanced  and  drew  his  atten- 
tion, the  sense  of  pain  abated,  and  the  time  seemed 
much  shorter. 

Archimedes,  it  is  said,  being  intent  upon  a  mathe- 
matical proposition,  when  Syracuse  was  taken  by  the 
Homans,  knew  not  the  calamity  of  the  city,  till  a  Ro- 
man soldier  broke  in  upon  his  retirement,  and  gave 
him  a  deadly  wound  ;  on  which  he  lamented  only  that 
he  had  lost  a  fine  demonstration. 

It  is  needless  to  multiply  instances  to  show,  that 
when  one  faculty  of  the  mind  is  intensely  engaged 


26  ESSAY   II. 

about  any  object,  the  other  faculties  are  laid  as  it  were 
fast  asleep. 

It  may  be  further  observed,  that  if  there  be  any 
thing  that  can  be  called  genius  in  matters  of  mere 
judgment  and  reasoning,  it  seems  to  consist  chiefly  in 
being  able  to  give  that  attention  to  the  subject  which 
keeps  it  steady  in  the  mind,  till  we  can  survey  it  accu- 
rately on  all  sides. 

There  is  a  talent  of  imagination,  which  bounds  from 
earth  to  heaven,  and  from  heaven  to  earth  in  a  mo- 
ment. This  may  be  favourable  to  wit  and  imagery  5 
but  the  powers  of  judging  and  reasoning  depend  chiefly 
upon  keeping  the  mind  to  a  clear  and  steady  view  of 
the  subject. 

Sir  Isaac  Newton,  to  one  who  complimented  him 
upon  the  force  of  genius,  which  had  made  such  im- 
provements in  mathematics  and  natural  philosophy,  is 
said  to  have  made  this  reply,  which  was  both  modest 
and  judicious,  that,  if  he  had  made  any  improvements 
in  those  sciences,  it  was  owing  more  to  patient  attention 
than  to  any  other  talent. 

"Whatever  be  the  efi*ects  which  attention  may  pro- 
duce, and  I  apprehend  they  are  far  beyond  what  is 
commonly  believed,  it  is  for  the  most  part  in  our  power. 

£very  man  knows  that  he  can  turn  his  attention  to 
this  subject  or  to  that,  for  a  longer  or  a  shorter  time, 
and  with  more  or  less  intenseness,  as  he  pleases.  It  is 
a  voluntary  act,  and  depends  upon  his  will. 

But  what  was  before  observed  of  the  will  in  gener- 
al, is  applicable  to  this  particular  exertion  of  it.  That 
the  mind  is  rarely  in  a  state  of  indiflference,  left  to. 
turn  its  attention  to  the  object  which  to  reason  appears 
most  deserving  of  it.  There  is,  for  the  most  part,  a 
bias  to  some  particular  object,  more  than  to  any  other ; 
and  this,  not  from  any  judgment  of  its  deserving  our  at- 
tention more,  but  from  some  impulse  or  propensity, 
grounded  on  nature  or  habit. 


OF  VOXUNTART   OPERATIONS.  27 

It  is  well  known  that  things  new  and  imcommon, 
things  grand,  and  things  that  are  beautiful,  draw  our 
attention,  not  in  proportion  to  the  interest  we  have, 
or  think  we  have  in  them,  but  in  a  much  greater  pro- 
portion. 

"Whatever  moves  our  passions  or  affections,  draws  our 
attention,  very  often,  more  than  we  wish. 

You  desire  a  man  not  to  think  of  an  unfortunate 
event  which  torments  him.  It  admits  of  no  remedy. 
The  thought  of  it  answers  no  purpose  but  to  keep  the 
wound  bleeding.  He  is  perfectly  convinced  of  all  you 
say.  He  knows  that  he  would  not  feel  the  affliction, 
if  he  could  only  not  think  of  it ;  yet  he  hardly  thinks 
of  any  thing  else.  Strange!  when  happiness  and 
misery  stand  before  him,  and  depend  upon  his  choice, 
he  chooses  misery,  and  rejects  happiness  with  his  eyes 
open ! 

Yet  he  wishes  to  be  happy,  as  all  men  do.  How  shall 
we  reconcile  this  contradiction  between  his  judgment 
and  his  conduct  ? 

The  account  of  it  seems  to  me  to  be  this :  the  afflict- 
ing event  draws  his  attention  so  strongly,  by  a  nat- 
ural and  blind  force,  that  he  either  has  not  the  power, 
or  has  not  the  vigour  of  mind  to  resist  its  impulse, 
though  he  knows  that  to  yield  to  it  is  misery,  without 
any  good  to  balance  it. 

Acute  bodily  pain  draws  our  attention,  and  makes 
it  very  difficult  to  attend  to  any  thing  else,  even  when 
attention  to  the  pain  serves  no  other  purpose  but  to  ag- 
gravate it  tenfold. 

The  man  who  played  a  game  at  chess  in  the  agony 
of  the  gout,  to  engage  his  attention  to  another  object, 
acted  the  reasonable  part,  and  consulted  his  real  hap- 
piness ;  but  it  required  a  great  effort  to  give  that  at- 
tention to  his  game,  which  was  necessary  to  produce  the 
effect  intended  by  it. 


38  ESSAY    II. 

Even  when  there  is  no  particular  object  that  draws 
away  our  attention,  there  is  a  desultoriness  of  thought 
in  man,  and  in  some  more  than  in  others,  which  makes 
it  very  difficult  to  give  that  fixed  attention  to  import- 
ant objects  which  reason  requires. 

It  appears,  I  think,  from  what  has  been  said,  that 
the  attention  we  give  to  objects,  is  for  the  most  part 
voluntary  :  that  a  great  part  of  wisdom  and  virtue  con- 
sists in  giving  a  proper  direction  to  our  attention; 
and  that  however  reasonable  this  appears  to  the  judg- 
ment of  every  man,  yet,  in  some  cases,  it  requires  an 
effort  of  self-command  no  less  than  the  most  heroic 
virtues. 

Another  operation  that  may  be  called  voluntaryt  is 
deliberation  about  what  we  are  to  do,  or  to  forbear. 

Every  man  knows  that  it  is  in  his  power  to  deliber- 
ate or  not  to  deliberate  about  any  part  of  his  conduct ; 
to  deliberate  for  a  shorter,  or  a  longer  time,  more  care- 
lessly, or  more  seriously :  and  when  he  has  reason  to 
suspect  that  his  affection  may  bias  his  judgment,  he 
may  either  honestly  use  the  best  means  in  his  power 
to  form  an  impartial  judgment,  or  he  may  yield  to  his 
bias,  and  only  seek  arguments  to  justify  what  inclina- 
tion leads  him  to  do.  In  all  these  points,  he  determines, 
lie  wills,  the  right  or  the  wrong. 

The  general  rules  of  deliberation  are  perfectly  evi- 
dent to  reason  when  we  consider  them  abstractly.  They 
are  axioms  in  morals. 

We  ought  not  to  deliberate  in  cases  that  are  perfect- 
ly clear.  No  man  deliberates  whether  he  ought  to 
choose  happiness  or  misery.  No  honest  man  deliber- 
ates whether  he  shall  steal  his  neighbour's  property. 
When  the  case  is  not  clear,  when  it  is  of  importance, 
and  when  there  is  time  for  deliberation,  we  ought  to 
deliberate  with  more  or  less  care,  in  proportion  to  the 
importance  of  the  action.    In  deliberation,  we  ought 


OF   VOLUNTARY   OPEBATIONS.  20 

to  weigh  things  in  an  even  balance,  and  to  allow  to 
every  consideration  the  weight  which,  in  sober  judg- 
ment, we  think  it  ought  to  have,  and  no  more.  This 
is  to  deliberate  impartially.  Our  deliberation  should 
be  brought  to  an  issue  in  due  time,  so  that  We  may  not 
lose  the  opportunity  of  acting  while  we  deliberate. 

The  axioms  of  Euclid  do  not  appear  to  me  to  have 
a  greater  degree  of  self-evidence,  than  these  rules  of 
deliberation.  And  as  far  as  a  man  acts  according  to 
them,  his  heart  approves  of  him,  and  he  has  confidence 
of  the  approbation  of  the  Searcher  of  hearts. 

But  though  the  manner  in  which  we  ought  to  delib- 
erate be  evident  to  reason,  it  is  not  always  easy  to 
follow  it.  Our  appetites,  our  affections  and  passions^ 
oppose  all  deliberation,  but  that  which  is  employed  in 
finding  the  means  of  their  gratification.  Avarice  may 
lead  to  deliberate  upon  the  ways  of  making  money, 
but  it  does  not  distinguish  between  the  honest  and  the 
dishonest. 

We  ought  surely  to  deliberate  how  far  every  appe- 
tite and  passion  may  be  indulged,  and  what  limits  should 
be  set  to  it.  But  our  appetites  and  passions  push  us 
on  to  the  attainment  of  their  objects,  in  the  shortest 
road,  and  without  delay. 

Thus  it  happens,  that  if  we  yield  to  their  impulse, 
we  shall  often  transgress  those  rules  of  deliberation, 
which  reason  approves.  In  this  conflict  between  the 
dictates  of  reason,  and  the  blind  impulse  of  passion^  we 
must  voluntarily  determine.  When  we  take  part  with 
our  reason,  though  in  opposition  to  passion,  we  approve 
of  our  own  conduct. 

What  we  call  a  fault  of  ignorance,  is  always  owing 
to  the  want  of  due  deliberation.  When  we  do  not  take 
due  pains  to  be  rightly  informed,  there  is  a  fault,  not 
indeed  in  acting  according  to  the  light  we  have,  but  in 
not  using  the  proper  means  to  get  light.    For  if  we 

VOL.   IV.  5 


so  ESSAY  II. 

judge  wrong  after  using  the  proper  means  of  informa- 
tion, there  is  no  fault  in  acting  according  to  that  wrong 
judgment  ,*  the  error  is  invincible. 

TJie  natural  consequence  of  deliberation  on  any  part 
of  our  conduct,  is  a  determination  how  we  shall  actj 
and  if  it  is  not  brought  to  this  issue  it  is  lost  labour. 

There  are  two  cases  in  which  a  determination  may 
take  place  ;  when  the  opportunity  of  putting  it  in  exe- 
cution is  present,  and  when  it  is  at  a  distance. 

When  the  opportunity  is  present,  the  determination 
to  act  is  immediately  followed  by  the  action.  Thus, 
if  a  man  determine  to  rise  and  walk,  he  immediately 
does  it,  unless  he  is  hindered  by  force,  or  has  lost  the 
power  of  walking.  And  if  he  sit  still  when  he  has 
power  to  walk,  we  conclude  infallibly,  that  he  has  not 
determined,  or  willed  to  walk  immediately. 

Our  determination,  or  will  to  aet,  is  not  always  the 
result  of  deliberation,^  it  may  be  the  effect  of  some 
passion  or  appetite,  without  any  judgment  interposed. 
And  when  judgment  is  interposed,  we  may  determine 
and  act  either  according  to  that  judgment  or  contrary 
to  it. 

AVhen  a  man  sits  down  hungry  to  dine,  he  eats  from 
appetite,  very  often  without  exercising  his  judgment 
at  all ;  nature  invites  and  he  obeys  the  call,  as  the  ox^ 
or  the  horse,  or  as  an  infant  does. 

When  we  converse  with  persons  whom  we  love  or 
respect,  we  say  and  do  civil  things  merely  from  affec- 
lion  or  from  respect.  They  flow  spontaneously  from 
the  heart,  without  requiring  any  judgment.  In  such 
eases  we  act  as  hrute  animals  do,  or  as  children  before 
the  use  of  reason.  We  fee)  an  impulse  in  our  nature^ 
and  we  yield  to  it. 

When  a  man  eats  merely  from  appetite,  he  does 
not  consider  the  pleasure  of  eating,  or  its  tendency  to 
health.    These  considerations  are  not  in  his  thoughts- 


OF  VOLUNTAET   OPERATIONS.  31 

I3ut  we  can  suppose  a  man  who  eats  with  a  view  to  en- 
joy the  pleasure  of  eating.  Such  a  man  reasons  and 
judges.  He  will  take  care  to  use  the  proper  means  of 
procuring  an  appetite.  He  will  be  a  critic  in  tastes, 
and  make  nice  discriminations.  This  man  uses  his  ra- 
tional faculties  even  in  eating.  And  however  contempt- 
ible this  application  of  them  may  be,  it  is  an  ex- 
ercise of  which,  I  apprehend,  brute  animals  are  not 
capable. 

In  like  manner,  a  man  may  say,  or  do  civil  things  to 
another,  not  from  affection,  but  in  order  to  serve  some 
end  by  it,  or  because  he  thinks  it  his  duty. 

To  act  with  a  view  to  some  distant  interest,  or  to 
act  from  a  sense  of  duty,  seems  to  be  proper  to  man  as 
a  reasonable  being ;  but  to  act  merely  from  passion, 
from  appetite,  or  from  affection,  is  common  to  him 
with  the  brute  animals.  In  the  last  case  there  is  no 
judgment  required,  but  in  the  first  there  is. 

To  act  against  what  one  judges  to  be  for  his  real 
good  upon  the  whole,  is  folly.  To  act  against  what  he 
judges  to  be  his  duty,  is  immorality.  It  cannot  be  de- 
nied, that  there  are  too  many  instances  of  both  in  hu- 
man life.  Video  meliora  prohoque,  deteriora  seqiior,  is 
neither  an  impossible,  nor  an  unfrequent  case. 

While  a  man  does  what  he  really  thinks  wisest  and 
best  to  be  done,  the  more  his  appedtes,  his  affections 
and  passions  draw  him  the  contrary  way,  the  more  he 
approves  of  his  own  conduct,  and  the  more  he  is  enti- 
tled to  the  approbation  of  every  rational  being. 

The  third  operation  of  mind  I  mentioned,  which  may 
be  called  voluntary,  is,  a  fixed  purpose  or  resolution 
with  regard  to  our  future  conduct. 

This  naturally  takes  place,  when  any  action,  or  course 
of  action,  about  which  we  have  deliberated,  is  not  im- 
mediately to  be  executed,  the  occasion  of  acting  being 
at  some  distance. 


32  ESSAY  II. 

A  fixed  purpose  to  do,  some  time  hence,  sumelhitig 
vhieli  we  believe  shall  then  be  in  our  power,  is  strictly 
and  properly  a  determination  of  will,  no  less  than  a  de- 
termination to  do  it  instantly.  Every  definition  of  vo- 
lition agrees  to  it.  [Note  K.]  Whether  the  opportunity 
of  doing  what  we  have  determined  to  do  be  present  or  at 
some  distance;  is  an  accidental  circumstance  which  does 
not  afiect  the  nature  of  the  determination,  and  no  good 
reason  can  be  assigned  why  it  should  not  be  called  vo- 
lition in  the  one  case,  as  well  as  in  the  other.  A  pur- 
pose, or  resolution,  therefore,  is  truly  and  properly  an 
act  of  will. 

Our  purposes  are  of  two  kinds.  We  may  call  the 
one  particular,  the  other  general.  By  a  particular 
purpose,  I  mean  that  which  has  for  its  object  an  indi- 
vidual action,  limited  to  one  time  and  place  ;  by  &  gen- 
eral purpose,  that  of  a  course  or  train  of  action,  intend- 
ed for  some  general  end,  or  regulated  by  some  general 
rule. 

Thus,  I  may  purpose  to  go  to  London  next  winter. 
When  the  time  comes,  I  execute  my  purpose,  if  I  con- 
tinue of  the  same  mind;  and  the  purpose,  when  exe- 
cuted, is  no  more.  Thus  it  is  with  every  particular 
purpose. 

A  general  purpose  may  continue  for  life ;  and,  after 
many  particular  actions  have  been  done  in  consequence 
of  it,  may  remain  and  regulate  future  actions. 

Thus,  a  young  man  purposes  to  follow  the  profession 
of  law,  of  medicine,  or  of  theology.  This  general  pur- 
pose directs  the  course  of  his  reading  and  study.  It  di- 
rects him  in  the  choice  of  his  company  and  companions, 
and  even  of  his  diversions.  It  determines  his  travels 
and  (he  place  of  his  abode.  It  has  influence  upon  his 
dress  and  manners,  and  a  considerable  effect  in  forming 
his  character. 

There  are  other  fixed  purposes  which  have  a  still 


or  VOIUNTARY  OPERATIONS.  33 

greater  effect  in  forming  the  character.    I  mean  such 
as  regard  our  moral  conduct. 

Suppose  a  man  to  have  exercised  his  intellectual  and 
moral  faculties,  so  far  as  to  have  distinct  notions  of 
justice  and  injustice,  and  of  the  consequences  of  both, 
and,  after  due  deliberation,  to  have  formed  a  fixed  pur- 
pose to  adhere  inflexibly  to  justice,  and  never  to  handle 
the  wages  of  iniquity. 

Is  not  this  the  man  whom  we  should  call  a  just  man  ? 
We  consider  the  moral  virtues  as  inherent  in  the  mind 
ofa  good  man,  even  when  there  is  no  opportunity  of 
exercising  them.  And  what  is  it  in  the  mind  which 
we  can  call  the  virtue  of  justice,  when  it  is  not  exer- 
cised ?  It  can  be  nothing  but  a  fixed  purpose,  or  deter- 
mination, to  act  according  to  the  rules  of  justice,  when 
there  is  opportunity. 

The  Eoman  law  defined  justice,  A  steady  andperpet- 
iidl  will  to  give  to  every  man  his  due.  When  the  op- 
portunity of  doing  justice  is  not  present,  this  can  meaa 
nothing  else  than  a  steady  purpose,  which  is  very  prop- 
erly called  will.  Such  a  purpose,  if  it  is  steady,  will 
infallibly  produce  just  conduct ;  for  every  known  trans- 
gression of  justice  demonstrates  a  change  of  purpose, 
at  least  for  that  time. 

What  has  been  said  of  justice,  may  be  so  easily  ap- 
plied to  every  other  moral  virtue,  that  it  is  unnecessary 
to  give  instances.  They  are  all  fixed  purposes  of  act- 
ing according  to  a  certain  rule. 

By  this,  the  virtues  may  be  easily  distinguished,  in 
thought  at  least,  from  natural  affections  that  bear  the 
same  name.  Thus,  benevolence  is  a  capital  virtue, 
which,  though  not  so  necessary  to  the  being  of  society, 
is  entitled  to  a  higher  degree  of  approbation  than  even 
justice.  But  there  is  a  natural  affection  of  benevo- 
lence common  to  good  and  bad  men,  to  the  virtuous 
and  to  the  vicious.    How  shall  these  be  distinguished  ? 


Si  ESSAY  II. 

In  practice^  indeed,  we  cannot  distinguish  them  ia 
other  men,  and  with  difficulty  in  ourselves;  but  in 
theory,  nothing  is  more  easy.  The  virtue  of  benevo- 
lence is  a  fixed  purpose  or  resolution  to  do  good  when 
we  have  opportunity,  from  a  conviction  that  it  is  right, 
and  is  our  duty.  The  affection  of  benevolence  is  a  pro- 
pensity to  do  good,  from  natural  constitution  or  habit, 
without  regai"d  to  rectitude  or  duty. 

There  are  good  tempers  and  bad,  which  are  a  part 
of  the  constitution  of  the  man,  and  are  really  involun- 
tary, though  they  often  lead  to  voluntary  actions.  A 
good  natural  temper  is  not  virtue,  nor  is  a  bad  one  vice. 
Hard  would  it  be  indeed  to  think,  that  a  man  should 
be  born  under  a  decree  of  reprobation,  because  he  has 
the  misfortune  of  a  bad  natural  temper. 

The  physiognomist  saw,  in  the  features  of  Socrates, 
the  signatures  of  many  bad  dispositions,  which  that 
good  man  acknowledged  he  felt  within  him  ;  but  the 
triumph  of  his  virtue  was  the  greater  in  having  con- 
quered them. 

In  men  who  have  no  fixed  rules  of  conduct,  no  self- 
government,  the  natural  temper  is  variable  by  num- 
berless accidents.  The  man  who  is  full  of  affection 
and  benevolence  this  hour,  when  a  cross  accident  hap- 
pens to  ruffle  him,  or  perhaps  when  an  easterly  wind 
blows,  feels  a  strange  revolution  in  his  temper.  The 
kind  and  benevolent  affections  give  place  to  the  jeal- 
ous and  malignant,  which  are  as  readily  indulged  in 
their  turn,  and  for  the  same  reason,  because  he  feels  a 
propensity  to  indulge  them. 

We  may  observe,  that  men  who  have  exercised  their 
rational  powers,  are  generally  governed  in  their  opin- 
ions by  fixed  principles  of  belief;  and  men  who  have 
made  the  greatest  advance  in  self-government,  are  gov- 
erned, in  their  practice,  by  general  fixed  purposes. 
Without  the  former,  there  would  be  no  steadiness  and 


OF   VOLUNTARY   OPERATIONS,  35 

consistence  in  our  belief;  nor  without  the  latter^  in 
our  conduct. 

When  a  man  is  come  to  years  of  understanding ; 
from  his  education^  from  his  company,  or  from  his 
study,  he  forms  to  himself  a  set  of  general  principles,  a 
creed,  which  governs  his  judgment  in  particular  points 
that  occur. 

If  new  evidence  be  laid  before  him  which  tends  to 
overthrow  any  of  his  received  principles,  it  requires  in 
him  a  great  degree  of  candour  and  love  of  truth,  to 
give  it  an  impartial  examination,  and  to  form  a  new 
judgment.  Most  men,  when  they  are  fixed  in  their 
principles,  upon  what  they  account  sufficient  evidence, 
can  hardly  be  drawn  into  a  new  and  serious  examination 
of  them. 

They  get  a  habit  of  believing  them,  which  is  strength- 
ened by  repeated  acts,  and  remains  immoveable,  even 
when  the  evidence  upon  which  their  belief  was  at  first 
grounded,  is  forgot. 

It  is  this,  that  makes  conversions,  either  from  relig- 
ious or  political  principles,  so  difficult. 

A  mere  prejudice  of  education  sticks  fast,  as  a  prop- 
osition of  Euclid  does  with  a  man  who  has  long  ago 
forgot  the  proof.  Both  indeed  are  upon  a  similar  foot- 
ing. We  rest  in  both,  because  we  have  long  done  so, 
and  think  we  received  them  at  first  upon  good  evidence, 
though  that  evidence  be  quite  forgot. 

When  we  know  a  man's  principles,  we  judge  by 
them,  rather  than  by  the  degree  of  his  understanding, 
how  he  will  determine  in  any  point  which  is  connected 
with  them. 

Thus,  the  judgment  of  most  men  who  judge  for 
themselves  is  governed  by  fixed  principles ;  and,  I  ap- 
prehend, that  the  conduct  of  most  men  who  have  any 
^elf-government,  and  any  consistency  of  conduct^  is 
governed  by  fixed  purposes. 


36  ESSAY   II. 

A  man  of  breeding  may,  in  his  natural  temper,  be 
proud,  passionate,  revengeful,  and  in  his  morals  a  very 
bad  man ;  yet,  in  good  company,  he  can  stifle  every 
passion  that  is  inconsistent  with  good  breeding,  and  be 
humane,  modest,  complaisant,  even  to  those  whom  in 
his  heart  he  despises  or  hates.  Why  is  this  man,  who 
can  command  all  his  passions  before  company,  a  slave 
to  them  in  private  ?  The  reason  is  plain :  he  has  a 
fixed  resolution  to  be  a  man  of  breeding,  but  has  no 
such  resolution  to  be  a  man  of  virtue.  He  has  com- 
bated his  most  violent  passions  a  thousand  times  be- 
fore he  became  master  of  them  in  company.  The  same 
resolution  and  perseverance  would  have  given  him  the 
command  of  them  when  alone. 

A  fixed  resolution  retains  its  influence  upon  the  eon- 
duct,  even  when  the  motives  to  it  are  not  in  view,  in 
the  same  manner  as  a  fixed  principle  retains  its  influ- 
ence upon  the  belief,  when  the  evidence  of  it  is  forgot* 
The  former  may  be  called  a  habit  of  the  wilU  the  latter 
a  habit  of  the  understanding.  By  such  habits  chiefly, 
men  are  governed  in  their  opinions^  and  in  their  prac- 
tice. 

A  man  who  has  no  general  fixed  purposes,  may  be 
said,  as  Pope  says  of  most  women,  I  hope  unjustly, 
to  have  no  character  at  all.  He  will  be  honest  or  dis- 
honest, benevolent,  or  malicious,  compassionate  or 
cruel,  as  the  tide  of  his  passions  and  affections  drives 
him.  This  however,  1  believe,  is  the  case  of  but  a 
few  in  advanced  life,  and  these,  with  regard  to  con- 
duct, the  weakest  and  most  contemptible  of  the  species. 

A  man  of  some  constancy  may  change  his  general 
purposes  once  or  twice  in  life,  seldom  more.  From 
the  pursuit  of  pleasure  in  early  life,  he  may  change  to 
that  of  ambition,  and  from  ambition  to  avarice.  But 
every  man  who  uses  his  reason  in  the  conduct  of  life, 
will  have  some  end,  to  which  he  gives  a  preference 


OF   VOLUNTAKY   OPERATIONS.  37 

above  all  others.  To  this  he  steers  his  course;  his 
projects  and  his  actions  will  be  regulated  by  it.  "With- 
out this,  there  would  be  no  consistency  in  his  conduct. 
He  would  be  like  a  ship  in  the  ocean,  which  is  bound 
to  no  port,  under  no  government,  but  left  to  the  mercy 
of  winds  and  tides. 

We  observed  before,  that  there  are  moral  rules  re- 
specting the  attention  we  ought  to  give  to  objects,  and 
respecting  our  deliberations,  which  are  no  less  evident 
than  mathematical  axioms.  The  same  thing  may  be 
observed  with  respect  to  our  fixed  purposes,  whether 
particular  or  general. 

Is  it  not  self-evident,  that,  after  due  deliberation,  we 
ought  to  resolve  upon  that  conduct,  or  that  course  of 
conduct,  which,  to  our  sober  judgment,  appears  to  be 
best  and  most  approvable?  That  we  ought  to  be  firm 
and  steady  in  adhering  to  such  resolutions,  while  we 
are  persuaded  that  they  are  right ;  but  open  to  convic- 
tion, and  ready  to  change  our  course,  when  we  have 
good  evidence  that  it  is  wrong  ? 

Fickleness,  inconstancy,  facility,  on  the  one  hand, 
wilfulness,  inflexibility,  and  obstinacy,  on  the  other, 
are  moral  qualities,  respecting  our  purposes,  which 
every  one  sees  to  be  wrong.  A  manly  firmness,  ground- 
ed upon  rational  conviction,  is  the  proper  mean  which 
every  man  approves  and  reveres. 


yoi.  IV. 


38  ESSAY    II. 

CHAP.  IV. 

COROLLABIES. 

From  >Yliat  has  been  said  concerning  the  will,  it  ap' 
pears,  Ist,  that,  as  some  acts  of  the  will  arc  transient 
and  momentary,  so  others  are  permanent,  and  may  con- 
tinue for  a  long  time,  or  even  through  the  whole  course 
of  our  rational  life. 

"When  I  will  to  stretch  out  my  hand,  that  will  is  at 
an  end  as  soon  as  the  action  is  done.  It  is  an  act  of 
the  will  which  begins  and  ends  in  a  moment.  But  when 
I  will  to  attend  to  a  mathematical  proposition,  to  exam- 
ine the  demonstration  and  the  consequences  that  may 
be  drawn  from  it,  this  will  may  continue  for  hours.  It 
must  continue  as  long  as  my  attention  continues ;  for  no 
man  attends  to  a  mathematical  proposition  longer  than 
he  wills. 

The  same  thing  may  be  said  of  deliberation,  with  re- 
gard either  to  any  point  of  conduct,  or  with  regard  to 
any  general  course  of  conduct.  "We  will  to  deliberate 
as  long  as  we  do  deliberate ;  and  that  may  be  for  days 
or  for  W€eks. 

A  purpose  or  resolution,  which  wc  have  shown  to 
be  an  act  of  the  will,  may  continue  for  a  great  part  of 
life,  or  for  the  whole,  after  we  are  of  age  to  form  a  res- 
olution. 

Thus,  a  merchant  may  resolve,  that,  after  he  has 
made  such  a  fortune  by  traffic,  he  will  give  it  up,  and 
retire  to  a  country  life.  He  may  continue  this  reso- 
lution for  thirty  or  forty  years,  and  execute  it  at  last; 
but  he  continues  it  no  longer  than  he  wills,  for  he  may 
at  any  time  change  his  resolution. 

There  are,  therefore,  acts  of  the  will,  which  are  not 
transient  and  momentary,  which  may  continue  long  and 
grow  into  a  habit.    [Note  L.]   This  deserves  the  more 


COROLLARIES*  39 

(0  be  observed,  because  a  very  eminent  philosopher  has 
advanced  a  contrary  principle ;  to  wit,  that  all  the  acts 
of  the  will  are  transient  and  momentary ;  and  from 
that  principle  has  drawn  very  important  conclusions, 
with  regard  to  what  constitutes  the  moral  character  of 
man. 

A  second  corollary  is,  that  nothing  in  a  man,  where- 
in the  will  is  not  concerned,  can  justly  be  accounted 
either  virtuous  or  immoral. 

That  no  blame  can  be  imputed  to  a  man  for  what 
is  altogether  involuntary,  is  so  evident  in  itself,  that  no 
arguments  can  make  it  more  evident.  The  practice 
of  all  criminal  courts,  in  all  enlightened  nations  is  found- 
ed upon  it. 

If  it  should  be  thought  an  objection  to  this  maxim, 
that,  by  the  laws  of  all  nations,  children  often  suffer 
tor  the  crimes  of  parents,  in  which  they  had  no  hand 
the  answer  is  easy. 

For,  jirstf  Such  is  the  connection  between  parents 
and  children,  that  the  punishment  of  a  parent  must 
hurt  his  children  whether  the  law  will  or  not.  If  a 
man  is  fined,  or  imprisoned  ,*  if  he  loses  life,  or  limb, 
or  estate,  or  reputation,  by  the  hand  of  justice,  his 
children  suffer  by  necessary  consequence.  2dly,  When 
laws  intend  to  appoint  any  punishment  of  innocent 
children  for  the  father's  crime,  such  laws  are  either 
unjust,  or  they  are  to  be  considered  as  acts  of  police, 
and  not  of  jurisprudence,  and  are  intended  as  an  expedi- 
ent to  deter  parents  more  effectually  from  the  commis- 
sion of  the  crime.  The  innocent  children,  in  this  case, 
are  sacrificed  to  the  public  good,  in  like  manner,  asj, 
to  prevent  the  spreading  of  the  plague,  the  sound  are 
shut  up  with  the  infected  in  a  house  or  ship,  that  has 
the  infection. 

By  the  law  of  England,  if  a  man  is  killed  by  an  ox 
goring  hini;)  or  a  cart  running  over  him,  though  there 


4.0  ESSAT  II. 

be  no  fault  or  neglect  in  the  owner,  the  ox  or  the  eart 
is  a  deodandf  and  is  confiscated  to  the  church.  The 
legislature  surelj  did  not  intend  to  punish  the  ox  as  a 
criminal,  far  less  the  cart.  The  intention  evidently 
was,  to  inspire  the  people  with  a  sacred  regard  to  the 
life  of  man. 

When  the  Parliament  of  Paris,  with  a  similar  inten- 
tion, ordained  the  house  in  which  Ravilliac  was  born, 
to  be  razed  to  the  ground,  and  never  to  be  rebuilt,  it 
would  be  great  weakness  to  conclude,  that  that  wise  ju- 
dicature intended  to  punish  the  house. 

If  any  judicature  should,  in  any  instance,  find  a  man 
guilty,  and  an  object  of  punishment,  for  what  they  al- 
lowed to  be  altogether  involuntary,  all  the  world 
would  condemn  them  as  men  who  knew  nothing  of 
the  first  and  most  fundamental  rules  of  justice. 

I  have  endeavoured  to  show,  that,  in  our  attention  to 
objects,  in  order  to  form  a  right  judgment  of  them ; 
in  our  deliberation  about  particular  actions,  or  about 
general  rules  of  conduct ;  in  our  purposes  and  resolu- 
tions, as  well  as  in  the  execution  of  them,  the  will  has 
a  principal  share.  If  any  man  could  be  found,  who, 
in  the  whole  course  of  his  life,  had  given  due  attention 
to  things  that  concern  him,  had  deliberated  duly  and 
impartially  about  his  conduct,  had  formed  his  resolu- 
tions, and  executed  them  according  to  his  best  judg- 
ment and  capacity,  surely  such  a  man  might  hold  up 
his  face  before  God  and  man,  and  plead  innocence. 
He  must  be  acquitted  by  the  impartial  Judge,  what- 
ever bis  natural  temper  was,  whatever  his  passions  and 
affections,  as  far  as  they  were  involuntary. 

A  third  corollary  is,  that  all  virtuous  habits,  when 
we  distinguish  them  from  virtuous  actions,  consist  in 
fixed  purpJkses  of  acting  according  to  the  rules  of  virtue, 
as  often  as  we  have  opportunity. 


COBOXLARIES.  41 

We  cau  conceive  in  a  man  a  greater  or  a  less  degree 
of  steadiness  to  his  purposes  or  resolutions ;  but  that 
the  general  tenor  of  his  conduct  should  be  contrary  to 
them,  is  impossible. 

The  man  who  has  a  determined  resolution  to  do  his 
duty  in  every  instance,  and  who  adheres  steadily  to 
his  resolution,  is  a  perfect  man.  The  man  who  has  a 
determined  purpose  of  carrying  on  a  course  of  action 
which  he  knows  to  be  wrong,  is  a  hardened  offender. 
Between  these  extremes  there  are  many  intermediate 
degrees  of  virtue  and  viee. 


ESSAY  m. 

OF  THE  PRINCIPLES  OF  ACTION. 
PART    I. 

OF   THE  MECHANICAL  PRINCIPLES  OF    ACTION. 
CHAP.  I. 

OF   THE   PRINCIPIES    OF   ACTION   IN    GENERAL. 

In  the  strict  philosophical  sense,  nothing  can  be  call- 
ed the  action  of  a  man,  but  what  he  previously  con- 
ceived and  willed,  or  determined  to  do.  In  morals  we 
commonly  employ  the  word  in  this  sense,  and  never 
impute  any  thing  to  a  man  as  his  doing,  in  which  his 
will  was  not  interposed.  But  when  moral  imputation 
is  not  concerned,  we  call  many  things  actions  of  the 
man,  which  he  neither  previously  conceived  nor  willed. 
Hence  the  actions  of  men  have  been  distinguished  into 
three  classes,  the  voluntary,  the  involuntary,  and  the 
mixed.  By  the  last  are  meant  such  actions  as  are  un- 
der the  command  of  the  will,  but  are  commonly  per- 
formed without  any  interposition  of  will. 

We  cannot  avoid  using  the  word  action  in  this  pop- 
ular sense,  without  deviating  too  much  from  the  com- 
mon use  of  language ;  and  it  is  in  this  sense  we  use  it 
when  we  inquire  into  the  principles  of  action  in  the  hu- 
man mind. 


OF  THE   PRINCIPIES   0¥   ACTION,  43 

By  principles  of  action,  I  understand  every  thing  that 
Incites  us  to  act. 

If  there  were  no  incitements  to  action,  active  power 
would  be  given  us  in  vain.  Having  no  motive  to  di- 
rect our  active  exertions,  the  mind  would,  in  all  cases, 
be  in  a  state  of  perfect  indifference,  to  do  this  or  that, 
or  nothing  at  all.  The  active  power  would  either  not 
be  exerted  at  all,  or  its  exertions  would  be  perfectly 
unmeaning  and  frivolous,  neither  wise  nor  foolish,  nei- 
ther good  nor  bad.  To  every  action  that  is  of  the 
smallest  importance,  there  must  be  some  incitement, 
some  motive,  some  reason.    [Note  M.] 

It  is  therefore  a  most  important  part  of  the  philoso- 
phy of  the  human  mind,  to  have  a  distinct  and  just 
view  of  the  various  principles  of  action,  which  the  Au- 
thor of  our  being  has  planted  in  our  nature,  to  ar- 
range them  properly,  and  to  assign  to  every  one  its  rauk« 

By  this  it  is,  that  we  may  discover  the  end  of  our 
being,  and  the  part  which  is  assigned  us  upon  the  thea- 
tre of  life.  In  this  part  of  the  human  constitution, 
the  noblest  work  of  God  that  falls  within  our  notice, 
we  may  discern  most  clearly  the  character  of  him  who 
made  us,  and  how  he  would  have  us  to  employ  that 
active  power  which  he  has  given  us. 

I  cannot  without  great  diffidence  enter  upon  this 
subject,  observing  that  almost  every  author  of  reputa- 
tion, who  has  given  attention  to  it,  has  a  system  of  his 
own ;  and  that  no  man  has  been  so  happy  as  to  give 
general  satisfaction  to  those  who  came  after  him. 

There  is  a  branch  of  knowledge  much  valued,  and 
very  justly,  which  we  call  knowledge  of  the  world, 
knowledge  of  mankind,  knowledge  of  human  nature : 
this,  I  think,  consists  in  knowing  from  what  principles 
men  generally  act ;  and  it  is  commonly  the  fruit  of 
natural  sagacity,  joined  with  experience. 

A  man  of  sagacity,  who  has  had  occasion  to  deal  in 
interesting  matters,  with  a  great  variety  of  persons  of 


Ml  £SSAY    III. 

difibrent  age,  sex,  rank,  and  profession,  learns  to  judge 
what  may  be  expected  from  men  in  given  circum- 
stances ;  and  how  they  may  be  most  effectually  induced 
to  act  the  part  which  he  desires.  To  know  this  is  of 
so  great  importance  to  men  in  active  life,  that  it  is  call- 
ed knowing  men,  and  knowing  human  nature. 

This  knowledge  may  be  of  considerable  use  to  a 
man  who  would  speculate  upon  the  subject  we  have  pro- 
posed, but  is  not,  by  itself,  sufficient  for  that  purpose. 

The  man  of  the  world  conjectures,  perhaps  with 
great  probability,  how  a  man  will  act  in  certain  given 
circumstances  ;  and  this  is  all  he  wants  to  know.  To 
enter  into  a  detail  of  the  various  principles  which  in- 
fluence the  actions  of  men,  to  give  them  distinct  names, 
to  define  them,  and  to  ascertain  their  different  prov- 
inces, is  the  business  of  a  philosopher,  and  not  of  a 
man  of  the  world  ;  and,  indeed,  it  is  a  matter  attended 
with  great  difficulty  from  various  causes. 

1st,  On  account  of  the  great  number  of  active  prin- 
ciples that  influence  the  actions  of  men. 

Man  has,  not  without  reason,  been  called  an  epitome 
of  the  universe.  His  body,  by  which  his  mind  is  great- 
ly affected,  being  a  part  of  the  material  system,  is  sub- 
ject to  all  the  laws  of  inanimate  matter.  During  some 
part  of  his  existence,  his  state  is  very  like  that  of  a 
vegetable.  He  rises,  by  imperceptible  degrees,  to  the 
animal,  and,  at  last,  to  the  rational  life,  and  has  the 
principles  that  belong  to  all. 

Another  cause  of  the  difficulty  of  tracing  the  various 
principles  of  action  in  man,  is,  that  the  same  action, 
nay,  the  same  course  and  train  of  action  may  proceed 
from  very  different  principles. 

Men  who  are  fond  of  a  hypothesis,  commonly  seek 
no  other  proof  of  its  truth,  but  that  it  serves  to  account 
for  the  appearances  which  it  is  brought  to  explain. 
This  is  a  very  slippery  kind  of  proof  in  every  part  of 


OF  THE  PRINCIPIES  OF  ACTION.        45 

philosophy,  and  never  to  be  trusted ;  but  least  of  all, 
when  the  appearances  to  be  accounted  for  are  human 
actions. 

Most  actions  proceed  from  a  variety  of  principles 
concurring  in  their  direction ;  and,  according  as  we 
are  disposed  to  judge  favourably  or  unfavourably  of 
the  person,  or  of  human  nature  in  general,  we  impute 
them  wholly  to  the  best,  or  wholly  to  the  worst,  over- 
looking others  which  had  no  small  share  in  them. 

The  principles  from  which  men  act  can  be  discover- 
ed only  in  these  two  ways  j  by  attention  to  the  conduct 
of  other  men,  or  by  attention  to  our  own  conduct,  and 
to  what  we  feel  in  ourselves.  There  is  much  uncer- 
tainty in  the  former,  and  much  difficulty  in  the  latter. 

Men  differ  much  in  their  characters  5  and  we  can 
observe  the  conduct  of  a  few  only  of  the  species.  Men 
differ  not  only  from  other  men,  but  from  themselves 
at  different  times,  and  on  different  occasions  ;  accord- 
ing as  they  are  in  the  company  of  their  superiors,  infe- 
riors, or  equals ;  according  as  they  are  in  the  eye  of 
strangers,  or  of  their  familiars  only,  or  in  the  view  of 
no  human  eye  ;  according  as  they  are  in  good  or  bad 
fortune,  or  in  good  or  bad  humour.  We  see  but  a 
small  part  of  the  actions  of  our  most  familiar  acquaint- 
ance ;  and  what  we  see  may  lead  us  to  a  probable  con- 
jecture, but  can  give  no  certain  knowledge  of  the  prin- 
ciples from  which  they  act. 

A  man  may,  no  doubt,  know  with  certainty  the  prin- 
ciples from  which  he  himself  acts,  because  he  is  con- 
scious of  them.  But  this  knowledge  requires  an  atten- 
tive reflection  upon  the  operations  of  his  own  mind, 
which  is  very  rarely  to  be  found.  It  is  perhaps  more 
easy  to  find  a  man  who  has  formed  a  just  notion  of  the 
character  of  man  in  general,  or  of  those  of  his  familiar 
acquaintance,  than  one  who  has  a  just  notion  of  hi^ 
own  character. 

VOL.   IV.  7 


46  ESSAY    III. 

Most  men,  through  pride  and  self-flattery,  are  apt 
to  think  themselves  better  than  they  really  are  j  and 
some,  perhaps  from  melancholy,  or  from  false  princi- 
ples of  religion  are  led  to  think  themselves  worse  than 
they  really  are. 

It  requires,  therefore,  a  very  accurate  and  impartial 
examination  of  a  man's  own  heart,  to  be  able  to  form 
a  distinct  notion  of  the  various  principles  which  influ- 
ence his  conduct.  That  this  is  a  matter  of  great  diffi- 
culty, we  may  judge  from  the  very  different  and  con- 
tradictory systems  of  philosophers  upon  this  subject, 
fpom  the  earliest  ages  to  this  day. 

During  the  age  of  Greek  philosophy,  the  Platonist, 
the  Peripatetic,  the  Stoic,  the  Epicurean,  had  each  his 
own  system.  In  the  dark  ages,  the  Schoolmen  and 
the  Mystics  had  systems  diametrically  opposite;  and, 
since  the  revival  of  learning,  no  controversy  has  beeu 
n^ore  keenly  agitated,  especially  among  British  philos- 
ophers, than  that  about  the  principles  of  action  in  the 
human  constitution. 

They  have  determined,  to  the  satisfaction  of  the 
learned,  the  forces  by  which  the  planets  and  comets 
traverse  the  boundless  regions  of  space  ;  but  have  not 
been  able  to  determine,  with  any  degree  of  unanimity, 
the  forces  which  every  man  is  conscious  of  in  himself, 
and  by  which  his  conduct  is  directed. 

Some  admit  no  principle  but  self-love;  others  re- 
solve all  into  love  of  the  pleasures  of  sense,  variously 
modifled  by  the  association  of  ideas  ;  others  admit  dis- 
interested benevolence  along  with  self-love  ;  others  re- 
duce all  to  reason  and  passion ;  others  to  passion  alone  ; 
nor  is  there  less  variety  about  the  number  and  distri- 
bution of  the  passions. 

The  names  we  give  to  the  various  principles  of  ac- 
tion, have  so  little  precision,  even  in  the  best  and 
purest  writers  in  every  language,  that,  on  this  account, 


ol"  THE  principi.es  oe  action.  47 

there  is  no  small  difficulty  in  giving  them  names,  and 
arranging  them  properly. 

The  words  appetite,  passion,  affection,  interest,  rea- 
son, cannot  be  said  to  have  one  definite  signification. 
They  are  taken  sometimes  in  a  larger,  and  sometimes 
in  a  more  limited  sense.  The  same  principle  is  some- 
times called  by  one  of  those  names,  sometimes  by  anoth- 
er; and  principles  of  a  very  different  nature  are  often 
called  by  the  same  name. 

To  remedy  this  confusion  of  names,  it  might  per- 
haps seem  proper  to  invent  new  ones.  But  there  are 
so  few  entitled  to  this  privilege,  that  I  sliall  not  lay 
claim  to  it ;  but  shall  endeavour  to  class  the  various 
principles  of  human  action  as  distinctly  as  I  am  able, 
and  to  point  out  their  specific  differences  ;  giving  thein 
such  names  as  may  deviate  from  the  common  use  of  ihe 
words  as  little  as  possible. 

There  are  some  principles  of  action  which  require 
no  attention,  no  deliberation,  no  will.  These,  for  dis- 
tinction's sake,  we  shall  call  mechanical.  Another 
class  we  may  call  animal,  as  they  seem  common  to 
man  with  other  animals.  A  third  class  we  may  call 
rational,  being  proper  to  man  as  a  rational  creature. 


^8  ESSAY  III. 

CHAP.  11. 

OF    INSTINCT. 

The  mechanical  principles  of  action  may,  I  think , 
Ije  reduced  to  two  species,  instincts  and  huhits. 

Bj  instinct,  I  mean  a  natural  blind  impulse  to  certain 
^     actions,  without  having  any  end  in  view,  without  delib- 
eration, and  very  often  without  any  conception  of  what 
we  do. 

Thus  a  man  breathes  while  he  is  alive,  by  the  alter- 
nate contraction  and  relaxation  of  certain  muscles,  by 
which  the  chest,  and  of  consequence  the  lungs,  are  con- 
tracted and  dilated.  There  is  no  reason  to  think,  that 
an  infant  new-born,  knows  that  breathing  is  necessary 
to  life  in  its  new  state,  that  he  knows  how  it  must  be 
performed,  or  even  'that  he  has  any  thought  or  concep- 
tion of  that  operation ;  yet  he  breathes  as  soon  as  he 
is  born,  with  perfect  regularity,  as  if  he  had  been  taught, 
and  got  the  habit  by  long  practice. 

By  the  same  kind  of  principle,  a  new-born  child, 
when  its  stomach  is  emptied,  and  nature  has  brought 
luilk  into  the  mother's  breast,  sucks  and  swallows  its 
food  as  perfectly  as  if  it  knew  the  principles  of  that  op- 
eration, and  had  got  the  habit  of  working  according  to 
them. 

Sucking  and  swallowing  are  very  complex  opera- 
tions. Anatomists  describe  about  thirty  pair  of  mus- 
cles that  must  be  employed  in  every  draught.  Of  those 
muscles,  every  one  must  be  served  by  its  proper  nerve, 
and  can  make  no  exertion  but  by  some  influence 
communicated  by  the  nerve.  The  exertion  of  all  those 
muscles  and  nerves  is  not  simultaneous.  They  must 
succeed  each  other  in  a  certain  order,  and  their  order 
is  HO  less  accessary  than  the  exertion  itself. 


O^  INSTINCT.  4(9 

This  regular  train  of  operations  is  carried  on 
according  to  the  nicest  rules  of  art,  by  the  infant, 
who  has  neither  art,  nor  science,  nor  experience,  nor 
habit. 

That  the  infant  feels  the  Uneasy  sensation  of  hunger, 
I  admit ;  and  that  it  sucks  no  longer  than  till  this 
sensation  be  removed.  But  who  informed  it  that  this 
uneasy  sensation  might  be  removed,  or  by  what 
means?  That  it  knows  nothing  of  this  is  evident;  for 
it  will  as  readily  suck  a  finger,  or  a  bit  of  stick,  as  the 
nipple. 

By  a  like  principle  it  is,  that  infants  cry  when  they 
are  pained  or  hurt ;  that  they  are  afraid  when  left 
alone,  especially  in  the  dark ;  that  they  start  when  in 
danger  of  falling;  that  they  are  terrified  by  an  angry 
countenance,  or  an  angry  tone  of  voice,  and  are  soothed 
and  comforted  by  a  placid  countenance,  and  by  soft  and 
gentle  tones  of  voice. 

In  the  animals  we  are  best  acquainted  with,  and 
which  we  look  upon  as  the  more  perfect  of  the  brute 
creation,  we  see  much  the  same  instincts  as  in  the  hu- 
man kind,  or  very  similar  ones,  suited  to  the  particular 
state  and  manner  of  life  of  the  animal. 
-  Besides  these,  there  are  in  brute  animals  instincts 
peculiar  to  each  tribe,  by  which  they  are  fitted  for  de- 
fence, for  offence,  or  for  providing  for  themselves,  and 
for  their  offspring. 

It  is  not  more  certain,  that  nature  has  furnished  va- 
rious animals  with  various  weapons  of  offence  and  de- 
fence, than  that  the  same  nature  has  taught  them  how 
to  use  them ;  the  bull  and  the  ram  to  butt,  the  horse  to 
kick,  the  dog  to  bite,  the  lion  to  use  his  paws,  the  boar 
his  tusks,  the  serpent  his  fangs,  and  the  bee  and  wasp 
their  sting. 

The  manufactures  of  animals,  if  we  may  call  them 
by  that  name,  present  us  with  a  wonderful  variety  of 


so  ESSAY   III. 

inslinctS)  belonging  to  parficular  species,  wli ether  of 
the  social  or  of  the  solitary  kin<l ;  the  nests  of  birds, 
so  similar  in  their  situation  and  architecture  in  the 
same  kind,  so  various  in  different  kinds  ;  the  webs  of 
spiders,  and  of  other  spinning  animals  ;  the  ball  of  the 
silk  worm  ;  (he  nests  of  ants  and  other  mining  animals ; 
the  comb«  of  wasps,  hornets,  and  bees ;  the  dams  and 
houses  of  beavers. 

The  instinct  of  animals  is  one  of  the  most  delightful 
^nd  instructive  parts  of  a  most  pleasant  study,  that  of 
natural  history ;  and  deserves  to  be  more  cultivated 
than  it  has  yet  been. 

Every  manufacturing  art  among  men  was  invented 
by  some  man,  improved  by  others,  and  brought  to 
perfection  by  time  and  experience.  Men  learn  to  work 
jn  it  by  long  practice,  which  produces  a  habit.  The 
arts  of  men  vary  in  every  age,  and  in  every  nation,  and 
are  found  only  in  those  who  have  been  taught  them. 

The  manufactures  of  animals  differ  from  those  of 
men  in  many  striking  particulars. 

No  animal  of  the  species  can  claim  the  inventioD. 
No  animal  ever  introduced  any  new  improvement,  or 
any  variation  from  the  former  practice.  Every  one 
of  the  species  has  equal  skill  from  the  beginning,  with- 
out teaching,  without  experience,  or  habit.  Every  one 
has  its  art  by  a  kind  of  inspiration.  I  do  not  mean 
that  it  is  inspired  with  the  principles  or  rules  of  the  art, 
but  with  the  ability  and  inclination  of  working  in  it  to 
perfection,  without  any  knowledge  of  its  principles, 
rules,  or  end. 

The  more  sagacious  animals  may  be  taught  to  do 
many  things  which  they  do  not  by  instinct.  What 
they  are  taught  to  do,  they  do  with  more  or  less  skill, 
according  to  their  sagacity  and  their  training.  But, 
in  their  own  arts,  they  need  no  teaching  nor  training, 
nor  is  the  art  ever  improved  or  lost.    Bees  gather 


OF   INSTITfCT.  51 

tlieir  honey  and  their  wax,  they  fabricate  their  combs 
and  rear  their  young  at  this  day,  neither  better  nor 
worse  than  they  did  when  Virgil  so  sweetly  sung  their 
works. 

The  work  of  every  animal  is  indeed  like  the  works 
of  nature,  perfect  in  its  kind,  and  can  bear  the  most  criti- 
cal examination  of  the  mechanic  or  the  mathematician. 
One  example  from  the  animal  last  mentioned  may  serve 
^o  illustrate  this. 

Bees,  it  is  well  known,  construct  their  combs  with 
small  cells  on  both  sides,  lit  both  for  holding  their 
store  of  honey,  and  for  rearing  their  young.  There 
are  only  three  possible  figures  of  the  cells,  which  can 
make  them  all  equal  and  similar,  without  any  useless 
interstices.  These  are  the  equilateral  triangle,  the 
square,  and  the  regular  hexagon. 

It  is  well  known  to  mathematicians,  that  there  is 
not  a  fourth  way  possible,  in  which  a  plane  may  be 
cut  into  little  spaces  that  shall  be  equal,  similar,  and 
regular,  without  leaving  any  interstices.  Of  the  three* 
the  hexagon  is  the  most  proper,  both  for  conveniency 
and  strength.  Bees,  as  if  they  knew  this,  make  their 
cells  regular  hexagons. 

As  the  combs  have  cells  on  both  sides,  the  cells  may 
either  be  exactly  opposite,  having  partition  against 
partition,^  or  the  bottom  of  a  cell  may  rest  upon  the 
partitions  between  the  cells  on  the  other  side,  which 
will  serve  as  a  buttress  to  strengthen  it.  The  last 
way  is  best  for  strength ;  accordingly,  the  bottom  of 
each  cell  rests  against  the  point  where  three  partition^ 
meet  on  the  other  side,  which  gives  it  all  the  strength 
possible. 

The  bottom  of  a  cell  may  either  be  one  plane  per- 
pendicular to  the  side  partitions,  or  it  may  be  compos- 
ed of  several  planes,  meeting  in  a  solid  angle  in  the 
middle  point.    It  is  only  in  one  of  these  two  ways. 


52  r4SSAY  III. 

that  all  the  cells  can  be  similar  'without  losing  rooui. 
And,  for  the  same  intention^  the  planes  of  ivhich  the 
bottom  is  composed,  if  there  be  more  than  one,  must 
be  three  in  number,  and  neither  more  nor  fewer. 

It  has  been  demonstrated,  that,  by  making  the  bot- 
toms of  the  cells  to  consist  of  three  planes  meeting  in 
a  point,  there  is  a  saving  of  material  and  labour  no  way 
inconsiderable.  The  bees,  as  if  acquainted  with  these 
principles  of  solid  geometry,  follow  them  most  accu- 
rately ;  the  bottom  of  each  cell  being  composed  of  three 
planes  which  make  obtuse  angles  with  the  side  parti- 
tions, and  with  one  another,  and  meet  in  a  point  in  the 
middle  of  the  bottom;  the  three  angles  of  this  bottom 
being  supported  by  three  partitions  on  the  other  side 
of  the  comb,  and  the  point  of  it  by  the  common  inter- 
section of  those  three  partitions. 

One  instance  more  of  the  mathematical  skill  display- 
ed in  the  structure  of  a  honeycomb  deserves  to  be  men- 
tioned. 

It  is  a  curious  mathematical  problem,  at  what  pre- 
cise angle  the  three  planes  which  compose  the  bottom 
of  a  cell  ought  to  meet,  in  order  to  make  the  greatest 
possible  saving,  or  the  least  expense^  of  material  and 
labour. 

This  is  one  of  those  problems,  belonging  to  the  high- 
er parts  of  mathematics,  which  are  called  problems  of 
maxima  and  minima.  It  has  been  resolved  by  some 
mathematicians,  particularly  by  the  ingenious  Mr. 
Maclarurin,  by  a  fluxionary  calculation,  which  is  to 
be  found  in  the  transactions  of  the  Royal  Society  of 
London.  He  has  determined  precisely  the  angle  re- 
quired ;  and  he  found,  by  the  most  exact  mensuration 
the  subject  could  admit,  that  it  is  the  very  angle,  in 
which  the  three  planes  in  the  bottom  of  the  cell  of  a 
honeycomb  do  actually  meet. 


OF    INSTINCT.  5S 

Shall  we  ask  here,  who  taught  the  bee  the  proper- 
lies  of  solids,  and  to  resolve  problems  of  maxima  and 
minima'}  If  a  honeycomb  were  a  work  of  human  art, 
every  man  of  common  sense  would  conclude,  without 
hesitation,  that  he  who  invented  the  construction,  must 
have  understood  the  principles  on  which  it  is  con- 
structed. 

"We  need  not  say  that  bees  know  none  of  these  things. 
They  work  most  geometrically,  without  any  knowl- 
edge of  geometry  j  somewhat  like  a  child,  who,  by 
turning  the  handle  of  an  organ,  makes  good  music,  with- 
out any  knowledge  of  music. 

The  art  is  not  in  the  child,  but  in  him  who  made  the 
organ.  In  like  manner,  when  a  bee  makes  its  combs  so 
geometrically,  the  geometry  is  not  in  the  bee,  but  in 
that  great  Geometrician  who  made  the  bee,  and  made 
all  things  in  number,  weight,  and  measure. 

To  return  to  instincts  in  man ;  those  are  most  re- 
markable which  appear  in  infancy,  when  we  are  igno- 
rant of  every  thing  necessary  to  our  preservation,  and 
therefore  must  perish,  if  we  had  not  an  invisible  guide, 
who  leads  us  blindfold  in  the  way  we  should  take,  if 
we  had  eyes  to  see  it. 

Besides  the  instincts  which  appear  only  in  infancy, 
and  are  intended  to  supply  the  want  of  understanding 
in  that  early  period,  there  are  many  which  continue 
through  life,  and  which  supply  the  defects  of  our  in- 
tellectual powers  in  every  period.  Of  these  we  may 
observe  three  classes. 

1st,  There  are  many  things  necessary  to  be  done 
for  our  preservation,  which,  even  when  we  will  to  do, 
■we  know  not  the  means  by  Avhich  they  must  be  done. 

A  man  knows  that  he  must  swallow  his  food  before 
it  can  nourish  him.  But  this  action  requires  the  co- 
operation of  many  nerves  and  muscles,  of  which  he 
knows  nothing  ^  and  if  it  were  to  be  directed  solely  by 

vol.   IV.  8 


<Hf  ESSAY   III. 

Ilis  underslanding  and  will,  he  would  starve  before  he 
learned  how  to  perform  it. 

Here  instinct  comes  in  to  his  aid.  He  needs  do  no 
more  than  will  to  sAvallow.  AH  the  requisite  motions 
of  nerves  and  muscles  immediately  take  place  in  their 
proper  order,  without  his  knowing  or  willing  any  thing 
about  them. 

If  we  ask  here,  whose  will  do  these  nerves  and  mus- 
cles obey  ?  Not  his,  surely,  to  whom  they  belong.  He 
knows  neither  their  names,  nor  nature,  nor  office  ;  he 
never  thought  of  them.  They  are  moved  by  some  im- 
pulse, of  which  the  cause  is  unknown,  without  any 
thought,  will,  or  intention  on  his  part,  that  is,  they  are 
moved  instinctively. 

This  is  the  case,  in  some  degree,  in  every  voluntary 
motion  of  our  body.  Thus.  1  will  to  stretch  out  my 
arm.  The  effect  immediately  follows.  But  we  know 
that  the  arm  is  stretched  out  by  the  contraction  of 
certain  muscles  ;  and  that  the  muscles  are  contracted 
by  the  influence  of  the  nerves.  I  know  nothing,  I  think 
nothing,  either  of  nerves  or  muscles,  when  I  stretch 
out  my  arm ;  yet  this  nervous  influence  and  this  con- 
traction of  the  muscles,  uncalled  by  me,  immediately 
produce  the  effect  which  I  willed.  This  is,  as  if  a 
weight  were  to  be  raised,  which  can  be  raised  only  by 
a  complication  of  levers,  pullies,  and  other  mechanical 
powers,  that  are  behind  the  curtain,  and  altogether  un- 
known to  me.  I  will  to  raise  the  weight ;  and  no  soon- 
er is  this  volition  exerted,  than  the  machinery  behind 
the  curtain  falls  to  work  and  raises  the  weight. 

If  such  a  case  should  happen,  we  would  conclude, 
that  there  is  some  person  behind  the  curiain,  who 
knew  my  will,  and  put  the  machine  in  motion  to  exe- 
cute it. 

The  case  of  my  willing  to  stretch  out  my  arm,  or 
to  swallow  my  food,  has  evidently  a  great  similarity  to 


OF   INSTINCT.  SS 

this.  But  who  it  is  that  stands  behind  the  curtain^ 
and  sets  the  internal  machinery  agoing,  is  hid  from 
us ;  so  strangely  and  wonderfully  are  we  made.  This, 
however,  is  evident,  that  those  internal  motions  are 
not  willed  nor  intended  by  us,  and  therefore  are  instinc- 
tive. 

A  second  case  in  which  we  have  need  of  instinct, 
even  in  advanced  life,  is,  when  the  action  must  be  so 
frequently  repeated,  that  to  intend  and  will  it  every 
time  it  is  done,  would  occupy  too  much  of  our  thought, 
and  leave  no  room  for  other  necessary  employments  of 
the  miad. 

We  must  breathe  often  every  minute,  whether  awake 
or  asleep.  We  must  often  close  the  eyelids,  in  order 
to  preserve  the  lustre  of  the  eye.  If  these  things  re- 
quired particular  attention  and  volition  every  time 
they  are  done,  they  would  occupy  all  our  thought. 
Nature  therefore  gives  an  impulse  to  do  them  as  often 
as  is  necessary,  without  any  thought  at  all.  They 
consume  no  time,  they  give  not  the  least  interruption 
to  any  exercise  of  the  mind ;  because  they  are  done  by 
instinct. 

A  third  case,  in  which  we  need  the  aid  of  instinct, 
is,  when  the  action  must  be  done  so  suddenly,  that 
there  is  no  time  to  think  and  determine.  When  a  man 
loses  his  balance,  either  on  foot  or  on  horseback,  he 
makes  an  instantaneous  effort  to  recover  it  by  instinct. 
The  effort  would  be  in  vain,  if  it  waited  the  determi- 
nation of  reason  and  will.  \^L 

When  any  thing  threatens  our  eyes,  we  wink  hard 
by  instinct,  and  can  hardly  avoid  doing  so,  even  when 
we  know  that  the  stroke  is  aimed  in  jest,  and  that  we 
are  perfectly  safe  from  danger.  I  have  seen  this  tried 
upon  a  wager,  which  a  man  was  to  gain  if  he  could 
keep  his  eyes  open,  while  another  aimed  a  stroke  at 
them  in  jest.    The  difficulty  of  doing  this  shows  that 


56  ESSAY   III. 

there  may  be  a  struggle  between  instinct  and  will ; 
and  that  it  is  not  easy  to  resist  the  impulse  of  instinct, 
even  by  a  strong  resolution  not  to  yield  to  it. 

Tluis  the  merciful  Author  of  our  nature,  has  adapt- 
ed our  instincts  to  the  defects,  and  to  the  weakness  of 
our  understanding.  In  infancy  we  are  ignorant  of 
every  thing ;  yet  many  things  must  be  done  by  us  for 
our  preservaiion  :  these  are  done  by  instinct.  When 
we  grow  up,  there  are  many  motions  of  our  limbs  and 
bodies  necessary,  which  can  be  performed  only  by  a 
curious  and  complex  internal  machinery  ;  a  machinery 
of  which  the  bulk  of  mankind  are  totally  ignorant,  and 
which  the  most  skilful  anatomist  knows  but  imperfect- 
ly. All  this  machinery  is  set  agoing  by  instinct.  We 
need  only  to  Avill  the  external  motion,  and  all  the  inter- 
nal motions,  previously  necessary,  to  the  effect,  take 
place  of  themselves,  without  our  will  or  command. 

Some  actions  must  be  so  often  repeated,  through  the 
Avhole  of  life,  that,  if  they  required  attention  and  will, 
we  should  be  able  to  do  nothing  else :  these  go  on  regu- 
larly by  instinct. 

Our  preservation  from  danger  often  requires  such 
sudden  exertions,  that  there  is  no  lime  to  think  and  to 
determine  :  accordingly,  we  make  such  exertions  by 
instinct. 

Another  thing  in  the  nature  of  man,  which  I  take 
to  be  partly,  though  not  wholly,  instinctive,  is  his 
proneness  to  imitation, 

Aristotle  observed  long  ago,  that  man  is  an  imita- 
tive animal.  He  is  so  in  more  respects  than  one.  He 
is  disposed  to  imitate  what  he  approves.  In  all  arts 
men  learn  more,  and  more  agreeably  by  example  than 
by  rules.  Imitation  by  the  chissel,  by  the  pencil,  by 
description,  prosaic,  and  poetical,  and  by  action  and 
gesture,  have  been  favourite  and  elegant  entertainments 
of  the  whole  species.     In  all  these  cases,  however,  the 


OF   INSTINCT.  Sf 

imitation  is  intended  and  willed,  and  therefore  cannot 
be  said  to  be  instinctive. 

But.  1  apprehend,  that  human  nature  disposes  us  to 
the  imitation  of  those  among  whom  we  live,  when  we 
neither  desire  nor  will  it. 

Let  an  Englishman,  of  iniddle  age,  take  up  his  resi- 
dence in  Edinburgh  or  Glasgow  ;  although  he  has  not 
the  least  intention  to  use  the  Scots  dialect,  but  a  firm 
resolution  to  preserve  his  own  pure  and  unmixed,  he 
will  find  it  very  difficult  to  make  good  his  intention. 
He  will,  in  a  course  of  years,  fall  insensibly,  and  with- 
out intention,  into  the  tone  and  accent,  and  even  into 
the  words  and  phrases  of  those  he  converses  with  ;  and 
nothing  can  preserve  him  from  this,  but  a  strong  dis- 
gust to  every  Scotticism,  which  perhaps  may  overcome 
the  natural  instinct. 

It  is  commonly  thought  that  children  often  learn  to 
stammer  by  imitation  ;  yet  I  believe  no  person  ever  de- 
sired or  willed  to  learn  that  quality. 

I  apprehend  that  instinctive  imitation  has  no  small 
influence  in  forming  the  peculiarities  of  provincial  dia- 
lects, the  peculiarities  of  voice,  gesture,  and  manner, 
which  we  see  in  some  families ;  the  manners  peculiar 
to  different  ranks,  and  difi'erent  professions ;  and  per- 
haps even  in  forming  national  characters,  and  the  hu- 
man character  in  general. 

The  instances  that  history  furnishes  of  wild  men, 
brought  up  from  early  years,  without  the  society  of 
any  of  their  own  species  are  so  few  that  we  cannot 
build  conclusions  upon  them  with  great  certainty. 
But  all  I  have  heard  of  agreed  in  this,  that  the  wild 
man  gave  but  very  slender  indications  of  the  rational 
faculties;  and,  with  regard  to  his  mind,  was  hardly 
distinguishable  from  the  more  sagacious  of  the  brutes. 

There  is  a  considerable  part  of  the  lowest  rank  in 
every  nation,  of  whom  it  cannot  be  said  that  any  pains 


58  ESSAY   III. 

have  been  taken  by  themselves,  or  by  others,  to  culti- 
vate their  understanding,  or  to  form  their  manners  ;  yet 
vie  see  an  immense  difierence  between  them  and  the 
wild  man. 

This  difference  is  wholly  the  effect  of  society ;  and,  I 
think,  it  is  in  a  great  measure,  though  not  wholly,  the 
effect  of  undesigned  and  instinctive  imitation. 

Perhaps,  not  only  our  actions,  but  even  our  judgment, 
and  belief,  is,  in  some  cases,  guided  by  instinct,  that  is, 
by  a  natural  and  blind  impulse. 

When  we  consider  man  as  a  rational  creature,  it  may 
seem  right  that  he  should  have  no  belief  but  what  is 
grounded  upon  evidence,  probable  or  demonstrative; 
and  it  is,  I  think,  commonly  taken  for  granted,  that  it 
is  always  evidence,  real  or  apparent,  that  determines 
our  belief. 

If  this  be  so,  the  consequence  is,  that,  in  no  case,  can 
there  be  any  belief,  till  we  find  evidence,  or  at  least, 
what  to  our  judgment  appears  to  be  evidence.  I  sus- 
pect it  is  not  so  ;  but  that,  on  the  contrary,  before  we 
grow  up  to  the  full  use  of  our  rational  faculties,  we  do 
believe,  and  must  believe  many  things  without  any  evi- 
dence at  all. 

The  faculties  which  we  have  in  common  with  brute 
animals,  are  of  earlier  growth  than  reason.  We  are  ir- 
rational animals  for  a  considerable  time  before  we  can 
properly  be  called  rational.  The  operations  of  reason 
spring  up  by  imperceptible  degrees ;  nor  is  it  possible 
for  us  to  trace  accurately  the  order  in  which  they  rise. 
The  power  of  reflection,  by  which  only  we  could  trace 
the  progress  of  our  growing  faculties,  comes  too  late  to 
answer  that  end.  Some  operations  of  brute  animals 
look  so  like  reason,  that  they  are  not  easily  distinguish- 
ed from  it.  Whether  brutes  have  any  thing  that  can 
properly  be  called  belief,  I  cannot  say ;  but  their  ac- 
tions show  something  that  looks  very  like  it. 


OF   INSTINCT.  50 

If  there  be  any  instinctive  belief  in  man,  it  is  proba- 
bly of  the  same  kind  with  that  which  we  ascribe  to 
brutes,  and  may  be  specifically  different  from  that  ra- 
tional belief  which  is  grounded  on  evidence  ;  but  that 
there  is  something  in  man  which  we  call  belief,  which 
is  not  grounded  on  evidence,  I  think,  must  be  granted. 

We  need  to  be  informed  of  many  things  before  we 
are  capable  of  discerning  the  evidence  on  which  they 
rest.  Were  our  belief  to  be  withheld  till  we  are  capa- 
ble, in  any  degree,  of  weighing  evidence,  we  should 
lose  all  the  benefit  of  that  instruction  and  information, 
without  which  we  could  never  attain  the  use  of  our  ra- 
tional faculties. 

Man  would  never  acquire  the  use  of  reason  if  he 
tvere  not  brought  up  in  the  society  of  reasonable  crea- 
tures. The  benefit  he  receives  from  society,  is  derived 
partly  from  imitation  of  what  he  sees  others  do,  partly 
from  the  instruction  and  information  they  communicate 
to  him,  without  which  he  could  neither  be  preserved 
from  destruction,  nor  acquire  the  use  of  his  rational 
powers. 

Children  have  a  thousand  things  to  learn,  and  they 
learn  many  things  every  day ;  more  than  will  be  easily 
believed  by  those  who  have  never  given  attention  to 
their  progress. 

Oportet  discentem  credere  is  a  common  adage.  Chil- 
dren have  every  thing  to  learn  ;  and,  in  order  to  learn^ 
they  must  believe  their  instructors.  They  need  a 
greater  stock  of  faith  from  infancy  to  twelve  or  four- 
teen, than  ever  after.  But  how  shall  they  get  this 
stock  so  necessary  to  them  ?  If  their  faith  depend  upon 
evidence ;  the  stock  of  evidence,  real  or  apparent,  must 
bear  proportion  to  their  faith.  But  such,  in  reality,  is 
their  situation,  that  when  their  faith  must  be  greatest, 
the  evidence  is  least.  They  believe  a  thousand  things 
before  they  ever  spend  a  thought  upon  evidence.    Na- 


60  ESSAY  III. 

ture  supplies  lliewant  of  evidence,  and  gives  tbem  an 
instinctive  kind  of  faidi  without  evidence. 

They  believe  implicitly  whatever  they  are  told,  and 
receive  with  assurance  the  testimony  of  every  one, 
without  ever  thinking  of  a  reason  why  they  should  do  so, 

A  parent  or  a  master  might  command  them  to  be- 
lieve, but  in  vain;  for  belief  is  not  in  our  power;  but 
in  the  first  part  of  life,  it  is  governed  by  mere  testi- 
mony in  matters  of  fact,  and  by  mere  authority  in  all 
other  matters,  no  le&s  than  by  evidence  in  riper  years. 

It  is  not  the  words  of  the  testifier,  but  his  belief,  that 
produces  this  belief  in  a  child  :  for  children  soon  learn 
to  distinguish  what  is  said  in  Jest,  from  what  is  said  in 
good  earnest.  What  appears  to  them  to  be  said  in  jest, 
produces  no  belief.  They  glory  in  showing  that  they 
are  not  to  be  imposed  on.  When  the  signs  of  belief  in 
the  speaker  are  ambiguous,  it  is  pleasant  to  observe 
with  what  sagacity  they  pry  into  his  features,  to  discern 
whether  he  really  believes  what  he  says,  or  only  coun- 
terfeits belief.  As  soon  as  this  point  is  determined, 
their  belief  is  regulated  by  his.  If  he  be  doubtful, 
they  are  doubtful,  if  he  be  assured,  they  are  also  as- 
sured. 

It  is  well  known  what  a  deep  impression  religious 
principles,  zealously  inculcated,  make  upon  the  minds 
of  children.  The  absurdities  of  ghosts  and  hobgoblins 
early  impressed,  have  been  known  to  stick  so  fast, 
even  in  enlightened  minds,  as  to  baffle  all  rational  con- 
viction. 

When  we  grow  up  to  the  use  of  reason,  testimony 
attended  with  certain  circumstances,  or  even  authority, 
may  atford  a  rational  ground  of  belief;  but  with  chil- 
dren, without  any  regard  to  circumstances,  either  of 
them  operates  like  demonstration.  And  as  they  seek 
no  reason,  nor  can  give  any  reason,  for  this  regard  to 
testimony  and  to  authority,  it  is  the  effect  of  a  natural 
impulse^  and  may  be  called  iustiqct. 


Oi"    INSTINCT.  61 

Another  instance  of  belief  which  appears  to  be  in- 
stinctive, is  that  which  children  show  even  in  infancy, 
that  an  event  which  they  have  observed  in  certain  cir- 
cumstances, will  happen  again  in  like  circumstances. 
A  child  of  half  a  year  old,  who  has  once  burned  his  fin- 
ger by  putting  it  in  the  candle,  will  not  put  it  there 
again.  And  if  you  make  a  show  of  putting  it  in  the 
candle  by  force,  you  see  the  most  manifest  signs  that 
he  believes  he  shall  meet  with  the  same  calamity. 

Mr.  Hume  has  shown  very  clearly,  that  this  belief  is 
not  the  effect  either  of  reason  or  experience.  He  en- 
deavours to  account  for  it  by  the  association  of  ideas. 
Though  I  am  not  satisfied  with  his  account  of  this  phe- 
nomenon, I  shall  not  now  examine  it ;  because  it  is 
sufficient  for  the  present  argument,  that  this  belief  is 
not  grounded  on  evidence,  real  or  apparent,  which  I 
think  he  clearly  proves. 

A  person  who  has  lived  so  long  in  the  world,  as  to 
observe  that  nature  is  governed  by  fixed  laws,  may  have 
some  rational  ground  to  expect  similar  events  in  similar 
circumstances  ;  but  this  cannot  be  the  case  of  the  child. 
His  belief  therefore  is  not  grounded  on  evidence.  It  is 
the  result  of  his  constitution. 

Nor  is  it  the  less  so,  though  it  shoidd  arise  from  the 
association  of  ideas.  For  what  is  called  the  association 
of  ideas  is  a  law  of  nature  in  our  constitution ;  which 
produces  its  effects  without  any  operation  of  reason  on 
our  part,  and  in  a  manner  of  which  we  are  entirely  ig- 
norant. 


TOl.   IV 


ESSAY    III. 


CHAPTER  III, 


or  HABIT. 


Habit  difi'ers  fi'om  instinct,  not  in  its  naturc^but  iu 
its  origin ;  the  latter  being  natural,  the  former  ac- 
quired. Both  operate  \vithout  will  or  intention,  with- 
out thought,  and  therefore  may  be  called  mechanical 
princijyles. 

Habit  is  commonly  defined,  a  facility  of  doing  a. 
thing,  acquired  hj  having  done  itfrequently.  This  def- 
inition is  sufficient  for  habits  of  art ;  but  the  habits 
which  may,  with  propriety,  be  called  principles  of  ac- 
tion, must  give  more  than  a  facility,  they  must  give 
an  inclination  or  impulse  to  do  the  action  ;  and  that, 
in  many  cases,  habits  have  this  force,  cannot  be 
doubted. 

How  many  awkward  habits,  by  frequenting  improper 
company,  are  children  apt  to  learn,  in  their  address, 
motion,  looks,  gesture,  and  pronunciation.  They  ac- 
quire such  habits  commonly  from  an  undesigned  and  in- 
stinctive imitation,  before  they  can  judge  of  what  is 
proper  and  becoming. 

When  they  are  a  little  advanced  in  understanding, 
they  may  easily  be  convinced  that  such  a  thing  is  un- 
becoming, they  may  resolve  to  forbear  it,  but  when 
the  habit  is  formed,  such  a  general  resolution  is  not  of 
itself  sufficient;  for  the  habit  will  operate  without  in- 
tention ;  and  particular  attention  is  Bccessary,  on  every 
occasion,  to  resist  its  impulse,  until  it  be  undone  by  the 
habit  of  opposing  it. 

It  is  owing  to  the  force  of  habits,  early  acquired  by 
imitation,  that  a  man  who  has  grown  up  to  manhood 
in  the  lowest  rank  of  life,  if  fortune  raise  him  to  a  high- 
er rank,  very  rarely  acquires  the  air  and  manners  of  a 
gentleman. 


OF  HABIT.  63 

When  to  that  instinctive  imitation,  which  I  spoiic 
«f  before,  we  join  the  force  of  habit,  it  is  easy  to  see, 
that  these  mechanical  principles  have  no  small  share 
in  forming  the  manners  and  character  of  most  men. 

The  difficulty  of  overcoming  vicious  habits  has,  in 
all  ages,  been  a  common  topic  of  theologians  and  mor- 
alists j  and  we  see  too  many  sad  examples  to  permit  us 
to  doubt  of  it. 

There  are  good  habits,  in  a  moral  sense,  as  well  as 
bad ;  and  it  is  certain,  that  the  stated  and  regular  per- 
formance of  what  we  approve,  not  only  makes  it  easy, 
but  makes  us  uneasy  in  the  omission  of  it.  This  is  the 
case,  even  when  the  action  derives  all  its  goodness  from 
the  opinion  of  the  performer.  A  good  illiterate  Ro- 
man Catholic  does  not  sleep  sound  if  he  goes  to  bed 
without  telling  his  beads,  and  repeating  prayers  which 
he  does  not  understand. 

Aristotle  makes  wisdom,  prudence,  good  sense,  sci- 
ence, and  art,  as  well  as  the  moral  virtues  and  vices,  to 
be  hahits.  If  he  meant  no  more,  by  giving  this  name 
to  all  those  intellectual  and  moral  qualities,  than  that 
they  are  all  strengthened  and  contirmed  by  repeated 
acts,  this  is  undoubtedly  true.  I  take  the  word  in  a 
less  extensive  sense,  when  I  consider  habits  as  princi- 
ples of  action.  I  conceive  it  to  be  a  part  of  our  constitu- 
tion, that  what  we  have  been  accustomed  to  do,  we  ac- 
quire, not  only  a  facility,  but  a  proneness  to  do  on  like 
occasions  ',  so  that  it  requires  a  particular  will  and  ef- 
fort to  forbear  it ;  but  to  do  it,  requires  very  often  no 
will  at  all.  We  are  carried  by  habit  as  by  a  stream  in 
swimming,  if  we  make  no  resistance. 

Every  art  furnishes  examples,  both  of  the  power  of 
habits  and  of  their  utility ;  no  one  more  than  the  most 
common  of  all  arts,  the  art  of  speaking. 

Articulate  language  is  spoken,  not  by  nature,  but  by 
art.    It  is  no  easy  matter  to  children,  to  learn  the  sim- 


6it  KSSAY    III. 

pIc  sounds  of  language ;  I  mean,  to  leara  to  pronounee 
the  vowels  and  consonants.  It  would  be  much  morfe 
difficult,  if  they  were  not  led  by  instinct  to  imitate  the 
sounds  they  hear;  for  the  difficulty  is  vastly  greater  of 
teaching  the  deaf  to  pronounce  the  letters  and  words, 
though  experience  shows  that  it  can  be  done. 

What  is  it  that  makes  this  pronunciation  so  easy  at 
last  which  was  so  difficult  at  first  ?  It  is  habit. 

But  from  what  cause  does  it  happen,  that  a  good 
speaker  no  sooner  conceives  what  he  would  express, 
than  the  letters,  syllables,  and  words  arrange  them- 
selves according  to  innumerable  rules  of  speech,  while 
he  never  thinks  of  these  rules  ?  He  means  to  express 
certain  sentiments ;  in  order  to  do  this  properly,  a  se- 
lection must  be  made  of  the  materials,  out  of  many 
thousands.  He  makes  this  selection  without  any  ex- 
pense  of  lime  or  thought.  The  materials  selected  must 
be  arranged  in  a  particular  order,  according  to  innumer- 
able rules  of  grammar,  logic,  and  rhetoric,  and  ac- 
companied with  a  particular  tone  and  emphasis.  He 
does  all  this  as  it  were  by  inspiration,  without  think- 
ing of  any  of  these  rules,  and  without  breaking  one  of 
them. 

This  art,  if  it  were  not  more  common,  would  appear 
more  wonderful,  than  that  a  man  should  dance  blindfold 
amidst  a  thousand  burning  ploughshares,  without  be- 
ing burnt ;  yet  all  this  may  be  done  by  habit. 

It  appears  evident,  that  as,  without  instinct,  the  in- 
fant could  not  live  to  become  a  man,  so,  without  habit, 
man  would  remain  an  infant  through  life,  and  would  be 
as  helpless,  as  unhandy,  as  speechless,  and  as  much  a 
child  in  understanding  at  threescore  as  at  three. 

I  see  no  reason  to  think,  that  we  shall  ever  be  able 
to  assign  the  physical  cause,  either  of  instinct,  or  of 
the  power  of  habit. 


OF   HABIT.  65 

Both  seem  to  be  parts  of  our  original  constitution. 
Their  end  and  use  is  evident ;  but  we  can  assign  no 
cause  of  them,  but  the  will  of  him  who  made  us. 

With  regard  to  instinct,  which  is  a  natural  propen- 
sity, this  will  perhaps  be  easily  granted ;  but  it  is  no 
less  true  with  regard  to  that  power  and  inclination 
which  we  acquire  by  habit. 

No  man  can  show  a  reason  why  our  doing  a  thing 
frequently  should  produce  either  facility  or  inclination 
to  do  it. 

The  fact  is  so  notorious,  and  so  constantly  in  our  eye, 
that  we  are  apt  to  think  no  reason  should  be  sought  for 
it,  any  more  than  why  the  sun  shines.  But  there  must 
be  a  cause  of  the  sun's  shining,  and  there  must  be  ^ 
cause  of  the  power  of  habit. 

We  see  nothing  analogous  to  it  in  inanimate  matter; 
or  in  things  made  by  human  art.  A  clock  or  a  watch, 
a  waggon  or  a  plough,  by  the  custom  of  going,  does  not 
learn  to  go  better,  or  require  less  moving  force.  The 
earth  does  not  increase  in  fertility  by  the  custom  of 
bearing  crops. 

It  is  said,  that  trees  and  other  vegetables,  by  grow- 
ing long  in  an  unkindly  soil  or  climate,  sometimes  ac- 
quire qualities  by  which  they  can  bear  its  inclemency 
with  less  hurt.  This,  in  the  vegetable  kingdom,  has 
some  resemblance  to  the  power  of  habit  |  but,  in  inan- 
imate matter,  I  know  nothing  that  resembles  it. 

A  stone  loses  nothing  of  its  weight  by  being  long  sup- 
ported, or  made  to  move  upward.  A  body,  by  being 
tossed  about  ever  so  long,  or  ever  so  violently,  loses 
nothing  of  its  inertia,  nor  acquires  the  least  disposition 
to  change  its  state. 


ESSAY  III. 

OF  THE  PRliNCIPLES  OF  ACTION. 
PART    II. 

OF  ANIMAL  PRLNXIPLES  OF  ACTION. 

CHAP.  I. 

or  APPETITES. 

Having  discoursed  of  the  mechanical  principles  of 
action,  I  proceed  to  consider  those  I  called  animal. 

They  are  such  as  operate  upon  the  will  and  inten- 
tion, but  do  not  suppose  any  exercise  of  judgment  or 
reason  ;  and  are  most  of  them  to  be  found  in  some  brute 
animals,  as  well  as  in  man. 

In  this  class,  the  first  kind  I  shall  call  appetites,  tak- 
ing that  word  in  a  stricter  sense  than  it  is  sometimes 
taken,  even  by  good  writers. 

The  word  appetite  is  sometimes  limited,  so  as  to  sig- 
nify only  the  desire  of  food  when  we  hunger;  some- 
times it  is  extended  so  as  to  signify  any  strong  desire, 
whatever  be  its  object.  Without  pretending  to  cen- 
sure any  use  of  the  word  which  custom  has  authorized, 
I  beg  leave  to  limit  it  to  a  particular  class  of  desires, 
which  are  distinguished  from  all  others  by  the  follow- 
ing marks. 


or   APPETITES,  07 

1st,  Every  appetite  is  accompanied  with  an  uneasy 
sensation  proper  to  it,  which  is  strong  or  weak,  in  pro- 
portion to  the  desire  we  have  of  the  object.  Sdly, 
Appetites  are  not  constant,  but  periodical,  being  sated 
hy  their  objects  for  a  time,  and  returning  after  certain 
periods.  Such  is  the  nature  of  those  principles  of  ac- 
tion, to  which  I  beg  leave,  in  this  Essay,  to  appropri- 
ate the  name  of  appetites.  Those  that  are  chiefly  ob- 
servable in  man,  as  well  as  in  most  other  animals,  ara 
hunger,  thirst,  and  lust. 

If  we  attend  to  the  appetite  of  hunger,  we  shall  find 
in  it  two  ingredients,  an  uneasy  sensation  and  a  desire 
to  eat.  The  desire  keeps  paee  with  the  sensation,  and 
ceases  when  it  ceases.  When  a  man  is  sated  with  eat- 
ing, both  the  uneasy  sensation  and  the  desire  to  eat 
cease  for  a  time,  and  return  after  a  certain  interval. 
So  it  is  with  other  appetites. 

In  infants,  for  some  time  after  they  come  into  the 
world,  the  uneasy  sensation  of  hunger  is  probably  the 
whole.  We  cannot  suppose  in  them,  before  experi- 
ence, any  conception  of  eating,  nor,  consequently,  any 
desire  of  it.  They  are  led  by  mere  instinct  to  suck 
when  they  feel  the  sensation  of  hunger.  But  when  ex- 
perience' has  connected,  in  their  imagination,  the  un- 
easy sensation  with  the  means  of  removing  it,  the  de- 
sire of  the  last  comes  to  be  so  associated  with  the  first, 
that  they  remain  through  life  inseparable  :  and  we 
give  the  name  of  hunger  to  the  principle  that  is  made 
up  of  both. 

That  the  appetite  of  hunger  includes  the  two  ingre- 
dients I  have  mentioned,  will  not,  I  apprehend,  be 
questioned.  I  take  notice  of  it  the  rather  because  we 
may,  if  I  mistake  not,  find  a  similar  composition  in 
other  principles  of  aotion.  They  are  made  up  of  dif- 
ferent ingredients,  and  may  be  analyzed  into  the  parts 
that  enter  into  their  composition. 


6S  ESSAY  lit. 

If  one  philosopher  should  maintain,  that  hungev  is 
an  uneasy  sensation,  another,  that  it  is  a  desire  to  eat^ 
they  seem  to  differ  widely  ;  for  a  desire  and  a  sensa- 
tion are  very  different  things,  and  have  no  similitude. 
But  they  are  both  in  the  right  ;  for  hunger  includes 
both  an  uneasy  sensation  and  a  desire  to  eat. 

Although  there  has  been  no  such  dispute  among  phi- 
losophers as  we  have  supposed  with  regard  to  hunger, 
yet  there  have  been  similar  disputes  with  regard  to 
other  principles  of  action  ;  and  it  deserves  to  be  con- 
sidered whether  they  may  not  be  terminated  in  a  simi- 
lar manner. 

The  ends  for  which  our  natural  appetites  are  given, 
are  two  evident  to  escape  the  observation  of  any  man 
of  the  least  reflection.  Two  of  those  I  named  are  in- 
tended for  the  preservation  of  the  individual,  and  the 
third  for  the  continuance  of  the  species. 

The  reason  of  mankind  would  be  altogether  insuffi- 
cient for  these  ends,  without  the  direction  and  call  of 
appetite. 

Though  a  man  knew  that  his  life  must  be  supported 
by  eating,  reason  could  not  direct  him  when  to  eat,  or 
what ;  how  much,  or  how  often.  In  all  these  things^ 
appetite  is  a  much  better  guide  than  our  reason.  Were 
reason  only  to  direct  us  in  this  matter,  its  ealni  voice 
would  often  be  drowned  in  the  hurry  of  business,  or  the 
charms  of  amusement.  But  the  voice  of  appetite  rises 
gradually,  and,  at  last,  becomes  loud  enough  to  call 
off  our  attention  from  any  other  employment. 

Every  man  must  be  convinced,  that,  without  our  ap- 
petites, even  supposing  mankind  inspired  with  all  the 
knowledge  requisite  for  answering  their  ends,  the  race 
of  men  must  have  perished  long  ago  ;  but,  by  their 
means,  the  race  is  continued  from  one  generation  to 
another,  whether  men  be  savage  or  civilized^  knowing 
or  ignorant;  Tirtuous  or  vicious. 


OF   APPETITES.  69 

By  the  same  means,  every  liibe  of  brute  animals, 
from  tlie  whale  that  ranges  the  ocean  to  the  least  mi- 
croscopic insect,  has  been  continued  from  the  begin- 
ning of  the  world  to  this  day  :  nor  has  good  evidence 
been  found,  that  any  one  species  which  God  made  has 
perished. 

Nature  has  given  to  every  animal,  not  only  an  appe- 
tite for  its  food,  but  taste  and  smell,  by  which  it  dis- 
tinguishes the  food  proper  for  it. 

It  is  pleasant  to  see  a  caterpillar,  which  nature  in- 
tended to  live  upon  the  leaf  of  one  species  of  plant, 
travel  over  a  hundred  leaves  of  other  kinds  without  tast- 
ing one,  till  it  comes  to  that  which  is  its  natural  food, 
which  it  immediately  falls  on,  and  devours  greedily. 

Most  caterpillars  feed  only  upon  the  leaf  of  one  spe- 
cies of  plant,  and  nature  suits  the  season  of  their  pro- 
duction to  the  food  that  is  intended  to  nourish  them. 
Many  insects  and  animals  have  a  greater  variety  of 
food  ;  but  of  all  animals,  man  has  the  greatest  variety, 
being  able  to  subsist  upon  almost  every  kind  of  vegeta- 
ble or  animal  food,  from  the  bark  of  trees  to  the  oil  of 
whales. 

I  believe  our  natural  appetites  may  be  made  more 
violent  by  excessive  indulgence,  and  that,  on  the  other 
hand,  they  may  be  weakened  by  starving.  The  first 
is  often  the  effect  of  a  pernicious  luxury,  the  last  may 
sometimes  be  the  effect  of  want,  sometimes  of  su- 
perstition. I  apprehend  that  nature  has  given  to  our 
appetites  that  degree  of  strength  which  is  most  proper 
for  us  ',  and  that  whatever  alters  their  natural  tone, 
either  in  excess  or  in  defect,  does  not  mend  the  work 
of  nature,  but  may  mar  and  pervert  it. 

A  man  may  eat  from  appetite  only.  So  the  brutes 
commonly  do.  He  may  eat  to  please  his  taste  when 
he  has  no  call  of  appetite.    J  believe  a  hnitc  may  do 

vol,   IV.  10 


70  ESSAY   III. 

this  also.  He  may  eat  for  (he  sake  of  health,  when 
neither  appetite  nor  taste  invites.  This,  as  far  as  I 
am  ahle  to  judge,  brutes  never  do. 

From  so  many  different  principles,  and  from  many 
more,  the  same  action  may  bo  done  ;  and  this  may  be 
said  of  most  human  actions.  From  this,  it  appears, 
that  very  different  and  contrary  theories  may  serve  to 
account  for  the  actions  of  men.  The  causes  assi,2;ned 
may  be  sufficient  to  produce  the  effect)  and  yet  not  be 
the  true  causes. 

To  act  merely  from  appetite,  is  neither  good  nor  ill 
in  a  moral  view.  [Note  N.]  It  is  neither  an  object  of 
praise  nor  of  blame.  No  man  claims  any  praise  be- 
cause he  eats  when  he  is  hungry,  or  rests  when  he  is 
weary.  On  the  other  hand,  he  is  no  object  of  blame,  if 
he  obeys  the  call  of  appetite  when  there  is  no  reason 
to  hinder  him.     In  this  he  acts  agreeably  to  his  nature. 

From  this  we  may  observe,  that  the  definition  of 
virtuous  actions,  given  by  the  ancient  Stoics,  and 
adopted  by  some  modern  authors,  is  imperfect.  They 
defined  virtuous  actions  to  be  such  as  are  according  to 
nature.  What  is  done  according  to  the  animal  part 
of  our  nature,  which  is  common  to  us  with  the  brute 
animals,  is  in  itself  neither  virtuous  nor  vicious,  but 
perfectly  indifferent.  Then  only  it  becomes  vicious, 
when  it  is  done  in  opposition  to  some  principle  of  su- 
perior importance  and  authority.  And  it  may  be  vir- 
tuous, if  done  for  some^important  or  worthy  end. 

Appetites,  considered  in  themselves,  are  neither  so- 
cial principles  of  action,  nor  selfish.  They  cannot  be 
called  social,  because  they  imply  no  concern  for  the 
good  of  others.  Nor  can  they  justly  be  called  selfish, 
though  they  be  commonly  referred  to  that  class.  An 
appetite  draws  us  to  a  certain  object,  without  regard  to 
its  being  good  for  us,  or  ill.  There  is  no  self  love  im- 
plied in  it  any  more  than  benevolence.     We  see,  that. 


OF   APPETITES.  71 

in  many  cases,  appetite  may  lead  a  man  to  what  he 
knows  will  be  to  his  hurt.  To  call  this  acting  from 
self-love,  is  to  pervert  the  meaning  of  words.  It  is 
evident,  tliat,  in  every  case  of  this  kind,  self-love  is 
sacrificed  to  appetite. 

There  are  some  principles  of  the  human  frame  very 
like  to  our  appetites,  though  they  do  not  commonly 
get  that  name. 

Men  are  made  for  labour,  either  of  body  or  mind. 
Yet  excessive  labour  hurts  the  powers  of  both.  To  pre- 
vent this  hurt,  nature  has  given  to  men,  and  other  ani- 
mals, an  uneasy  sensation,  which  always  attends  exces- 
sive labour,  and  which  we  caUfatiguet  weariness^  lassi- 
tude. This  uneasy  sensation  is  conjoined  with  the  de- 
sire of  rest,  or  intermission  of  our  labour.  And  thus 
nature  calls  us  to  rest  when  we  are  weary,  in  the  same 
manner  as  to  eat  when  we  are  hungry. 

In  both  eases  there  is  a  desire  of  a  certain  object,  and 
an  uneasy  sensation  accompanying  that  desire.  In 
both  cases  the  desire  is  satiated  by  its  object,  and  re- 
turns after  certain  intervals.  In  this  only  they  differ, 
that  in  the  appetites  first  mentioned,  the  uneasy  sensa- 
tion arises  at  intervals  without  action,  and  leads  to  a 
certain  action  :  in  weariness,  ihe  uneasy  sensation  arises 
from  action  too  long  continued,  and  leads  to  rest. 

But  nature  intended  that  we  should  be  active,  and  we 
need  some  principle  to  incite  us  to  action,  when  we  hap- 
pen not  to  be  invited  by  any  appetite  or  passion. 

For  this  end,  when  strength  and  spirits  are  recruit- 
ed by  rest,  nature  has  made  total  inaction  as  uneasy  as 
excessive  labour. 

We  may  call  this  the  principle  of  activity.  It  is 
most  conspicuous  in  children,  who  cannot  be  supposed 
to  know  how  useful  and  necessary  it  is  for  their  im- 
provement to  be  constantly  employed.  Their  constant 
activity  therefore  appears  not  to  proceed  from  their 


72  ESSAY   III. 

having  some  end  constantly  in  view,  but  rather  from 
this,  that  they  desire  to  be  always  doing  something, 
and  feel  uneasiness  in  total  inaction. 

Nop  is  this  principle  confined  to  childliood  5  it  has 
great  effects  in  advanced  life. 

When  a  man  has  neither  hope,  nor  fear,  nor  desire, 
nor  project,  nor  employment,  of  body  or  mind,  one 
might  be  apt  to  think  him  the  happiest  mortal  upon 
earth,  having  nothing  to  do  but  enjoy  himself;  \mt  we 
find  him,  in  fact,  the  most  unhappy. 

He  is  more  weary  of  inaction  than  ever  he  was  of 
excessive  labour.  He  is  weary  of  the  world,  and  of 
his  own  existence ;  and  is  more  miserable  than  the 
sailor  wrestling  with  a  storm,  or  the  soldier  mounting 
a  breach. 

This  dismal  state  is  commonly  the  lot  of  the  man  who 
has  neither  exercise  of  body,  nor  employment  of 
mind.  For  the  mind,  like  water,  corrupts  and  pu- 
trifies  by  stagnation,  but  by  running,  purities  and  re- 
fines. 

Besides  the  appetites  which  nature  has  given  us  for 
useful  and  necessary  purposes,  we  may  create  appe- 
tites which  nature  never  gave. 

The  frequent  use  of  things  which  stimulate  the  nerv- 
ous system,  produces  a  languor  when  their  effect  is 
gone  off,  and  a  desire  to  repeat  them.  By  this  means 
a  desire  of  a  certain  object  is  created,  accompanied  by 
an  uneasy  sensation.  Both  are  removed  for  a  time  by 
the  o]>ject  desired ;  but  they  return  after  a  certain  in- 
terval. This  differs  from  natural  appetite,  only  in  being 
acquired  by  custom.  Such  arc  the  appetites  which 
some  men  acquire  for  the  use  of  tobacco,  for  opiates^ 
and  for  intoxicating  liquors. 

These  are  commonly  called  habits,  and  justly.  But 
ihcre  are  different  kinds  of  habits,  even  of  the  active 
jcrts  which  ought  to  be  distinguished.    Some  hflbits 


OF  APPETITES.  73 

produce  only  a  facility  of  doing  a  thing,  without  any  in- 
clination to  do  it.  All  arts  are  habits  of  this  kind,  but 
they  cannot  be  called  principles  of  action.  Other  hab- 
its produce  a  proneness  to  do  an  action,  without  thought 
or  intention.  These  we  considered  before  as  raeehan- 
ical  principles  of  action.  There  are  other  habits  which 
produce  a  desire  of  a  certain  object,  and  an  uneasy  sen- 
sation, till  it  is  obtained.  It  is  this  last  kind  only  that 
I  call  acquired  appetites. 

As  it  is  best  to  preserve  our  natural  appetites,  in  that 
tone  and  degree  of  strength  which  nature  gives  them, 
so  we  ought  to  beware  of  acquiring  appetites  which  na- 
ture never  gave.  They  are  always  useless,  and  very 
often  hurtful. 

Although,  as  was  before  observed,  there  be  nei- 
ther virtue  nor  vice  in  acting  from  appetite,  there 
may  be  much  of  either  in  the  management  of  our  ap- 
petites. 

"When  appetite  is  opposed  by  some  principle  drawing 
a  contrary  way,  there  must  be  a  determination  of  the 
will  which  shall  prevail,  and  this  determination  may  be, 
in  a  moral  sense,  right  or  wrong. 

Appetite,  even  in  a  brute  animal,  may  be  restrained 
by  a  stronger  principle  opposed  to  it.  A  dog,  when 
he  is  hungry  and  has  meat  set  before  him,  may  be  kept 
from  touching  it  by  the  fear  of  immediate  punish- 
ment. In  this  case  his  fear  operates  more  strongly  than 
his  desire. 

Do  we  attribute  any  virtue  to  the  dog  on  this  ac- 
count? I  think  not.  Nor  should  we  ascribe  any  virtue 
to  a  man  in  a  like  case.  The  animal  is  carried  by  the 
strongest  moving  force.  This  requires  no  exertion,  no 
self-government,  but  passively  to  yield  to  the  strongest 
impulse.  This,  I  think,  brutes  always  do ;  tlierefore 
we  attribute  to  them  neither  virtue  nor  vice.  We  con- 
sider them  as  being  neither  objects  of  moral  approba- 
tion, nor  disapprobation. 


74  ESSAY  III. 

But  it  may  happen,  that,  when  appetite  draws  one 
way,  it  may  be  opposed,  not  by  any  appetite  or  passion, 
hut  by  some  cool  principle  of  action,  which  has  au- 
thority without  any  impulsive  force  :  fop  example,  by 
some  interest,  which  is  too  distant  to  raise  any  passion 
or  emotion ;  or  by  some  consideration  of  decency,  or  of 
duty. 

In  cases  of  this  kind,  the  man  is  convinced  that  he 
ought  not  to  yield  to  appetite,  yet  there  is  not  an  equal 
or  a  greater  impulse  to  oppose  it.  There  are  circum- 
stances, indeed,  that  convince  the  judgment,  but  these 
are  not  sufficient  to  determine  the  will  against  a  strong 
appetite,  without  self-government. 

I  apprehend  that  brute  animals  have  no  power  of 
self-government.  From  their  constitution,  they  must 
be  led  by  the  appetite  or  passion  which  is  strongest  for 
the  time. 

On  this  account  they  have,  in  all  ages,  and  among 
all  nations,  been  thought  incapable  of  being  governed 
by  laws,  though  some  of  them  may  be  subjects  of  dis- 
cipline. 

The  same  would  be  the  condition  of  man,  if  he  had 
no  power  to  restrain  appetite,  but  by  a  stronger  con- 
trary appetite  or  passion.  It  would  be  to  no  purpose 
to  prescribe  laws  to  him  for  the  government  of  his  ac- 
tions. You  might  as  well  forbid  the  wind  to  blow,  as 
forbid  him  to  follow  whatever  happens  to  give  the 
strongest  present  impulse. 

Every  one  knows,  that  when  appetite  draws  one  way, 
duty,  decency,  or  even  interest,  may  draw  the  contrary 
way ;  and  that  appetite  may  give  a  stronger  impulse 
than  any  one  of  these,  or  even  all  of  them  conjoined. 
Yet  it  is  certain,  that  in  every  case  of  this  kind,  appe- 
tite ought  to  yield  to  any  of  these  principles  when  it 
stands  opposed  to  them.  It  is  in  such  cases  that  self- 
government  is  necessary. 


OF   APPETITES,  75 

The  man  who  suffers  himself  to  be  led  by  appetite  to 
do  what  he  knows  he  ought  not  to  do,  has  an  immediate 
and  natural  conviction  that  he  did  wrong,  and  might  have 
done  otherwise;  and  therefore  he  condemns  himself, 
and  confesses  that  he  yielded  to  an  appetite  which 
ought  to  have  been  under  his  command. 

Thus  it  appears,  that  though  our  natural  appetites 
have  in  themselves  neither  virtue  nor  vice,  though  the 
acting  merely  from  appetite,  when  there  is  no  princi- 
ple of  greater  authority  to  oppose  it,  be  a  matter  indif- 
ferent; yet  there  may  be  a  great  deal  of  virtue  or  of 
vice  in  the  management  of  our  appetites ;  and  that 
the  power  of  self-government  is  necessary  for  their  reg- 
ulation. 


76  ESSAY   III. 

CHAPTER  JI. 

OF  DESIRES. 

Another  class  of  animal  priaciples  of  action  in 
mau,  I  shall,  for  want  of  a  better  specific  name,  call 
desires. 

They  are  distinguished  from  appetites  by  this ;  that 
there  is  not  an  uneasy  sensation  proper  to  eacli,  and  al- 
ways accompanying  it ',  and  that  they  are  not  periodi- 
cal, but  constant,  not  being  sated  with  their  objects  for 
a  time,  as  appetites  are. 

The  desires  I  have  in  view,  are  chiefly  these  three, 
the  desire  of  power,  the  desire  of  esteem,  and  the  de- 
sire of  knowledge. 

We  may,  I  think,  perceive  some  degree  of  these 
principles  in  ^rute  animals  of  the  more  sagacious  kind ; 
but  in  man  they  are  much  more  conspicuous,  and  have 
a  larger  sphere. 

In  a  herd  of  black  cattle  there  is  a  rank  and  subor- 
dination. When  a  stranger  is  introduced  into  the  herd, 
he  must  fight  every  one  till  his  rank  is  settled.  Then 
he  yields  to  the  stronger,  and  assumes  authority  over 
the  weaker.  The  case  is  much  the  same  in  the  crew 
of  a  ship  of  war. 

As  soon  as  men  associate  together,  the  desire  of  su- 
periority discovers  itself.  In  barbarous  tribes,  as  well 
as  among  the  gregarious  kinds  of  animals,  rank  is  de- 
termined by  strength,  courage,  swiftness,  or  such 
other  qualities.  Among  civilized  nations,  many  things 
of  a  different  kind  give  power  and  rank  ;  places  in  gov- 
ernment, titles  of  honor,  riches,  wisdom,  eloquence, 
virtue,  and  even  the  reputation  of  these.  All  these  are 
either  different  species  of  power,  or  means  of  acquiring 
it ;  and  when  they  are  sought  for  that  end,  must  be 
considered  as  instances  of  the  desire  of  power. 


OF  DESIRES.  yt 

The  desire  of  esteem  is  not  peculiar  to  man.  A  dog 
exults  in  the  approbation  and  applause  of  his  master, 
and  is  humbled  by  his  displeasure.  But  in  man  this 
desire  is  much  more  conspicuous,  and  operates  in  a 
thousand  diiferent  ways. 

Hence  it  is  that  so  very  few  are  proof  against  flat- 
tery, when  it  is  not  very  gross.  We  wish  to  be  well  in 
the  opinion  of  others,  and  therefore  are  prone  to  inter- 
pret in  our  own  favour,  the  signs  of  their  good  opinion, 
even  when  they  are  ambiguous. 

There  are  few  injuries  that  are  not  more  easy  to  be 
borne  than  contempt. 

We  cannot  always  avoid  seeing,  in  tlie  conduct  of 
others,  tilings  tliat  move  contempt ;  but  in  all  polite 
circles,  the  signs  of  it  must  be  suppressed,  otherwise 
men  could  not  oonvcrse  together. 

As  there  is  no  quality,  common  to  good  and  bad 
men,  more  esteemed  than  courage,  nor  any  thing  in  a 
man  more  the  object  of  contempt  than  cowardice; 
hence  every  man  desires  to  be  thought  a  man  of  cour- 
age ;  and  the  reputation  of  cowardice  is  worse  than 
death.  How  many  have  died  to  avoid  being  thought 
cowards  ?  How  many,  for  the  same  reason,  have  done 
what  made  them  unhappy  to  the  end  of  their  lives. 

I  believe  many  a  tragical  event,  if  traced  to  its  source 
in  human  nature,  might  be  referred  to  the  desire  of  es- 
teem,  or  the  dread  of  contempt. 

In  brute  animals  there  is  so  little  that  can  be  called 
knowledge,  that  the  desire  of  it  can  make  no  consid- 
erable figure  in  them.  Yet  I  have  seen  a  cat,  when 
brought  into  a  new  habitation,  examine  with  care  every 
corner  of  it,  and  anxious  to  know  every  lurking  place, 
and  the  avenues  to  it.  And  I  believe  the  same  thing 
may  be  observed  in  many  other  species,  especially  in 
those  that  are  liable  to  be  hunted  by  raan^  or  by  otijer 
animals. 

VOL.  IV.  il 


78  ESSAY    III. 

But  the  desire  of  knowledge  in  the  human  specieS/ 
is  a  principle  that  cannot  escape  our  observation. 

The  curiosity  of  children  is  the  principle  that  oc- 
cupies most  of  their  time  while  they  are  awake.  What 
they  can  handle  they  examine  on  all  sides,  and  often 
break  in  pieces,  in  order  to  discover  what  is  within. 

When  men  grow  up,  their  curiosity  does  not  cease, 
but  is  employed  upon  other  objects.  Novelty  is  consid- 
ered as  one  great  source  of  the  pleasures  of  tasto,  and 
indeed  is  necessary,  in  one  degree  or  other,  to  give  a 
relish  to  them  all. 

When  we  speak  of  the  desire  of  knowledge  as  a  prin- 
ciple of  action  in  man,  we  must  not  confine  it  to  the 
pursuits  of  the  philosopher,  or  of  the  literary  man. 
The  desire  of  know  ledge  discovers  itself,  in  one  person* 
by  an  avidity  to  know  the  scandal  of  the  village,  and 
who  makes  love,  and  to  whom ;  in  another,  to  know 
the  economy  of  the  next  family ;  in  another,  to  know 
what  the  post  brings ;  and,  in  another,  to  trace  the  path 
of  a  new  comet. 

When  men  show  an  anxiety,  and  <ake  pains  to  know 
what  is  of  no  moment,  and  can  be  of  no  use  to  them- 
selves or  to  others,  this  is  trifling,  and  vain  curiosity. 
It  is  a  culpable  weakness  and  folly ;  but  still  it  is  the 
wrong  direction  of  a  natural  principle ;  and  shows  the 
force  of  that  principle,  more  than  when  it  is  directed  to 
matters  worthy  to  be  known, 

I  think  it  unnecessary  to  use  arguments  to  show, 
that  the  desires  of  power,  of  esteem,  and  of  knowledge, 
are  natural  principles  in  tbe  constitution  of  man.  Those 
who  are  not  convinced  of  this  by  reflecting  upon  their 
own  feelings  and  sentiments,  will  not  easily  be  convinc- 
ed by  arguments. 

Power,  esteem,  and  knowledge,  are  so  useful  for 
many  purposes,  that  it  is  easy  to  resolve  the  desire  of 


OP   DESIRES.  79 

them  into  other  principles.  Those  wlio  do  so  ijiu  st 
maintain,  that  we  never  desire  these  objects  for  their 
own  salves,  but  as  means  only  of  procuring  pleasure,  or 
something  which  is  a  natural  object  of  desire.  This, 
indeed,  was  the  doctrine  of  Epicurus ;  and  it  has  had 
its  votaries  in  modern  times.  But  it  has  been  observ- 
ed, that  men  desire  posthumous  fame,  which  can  pro- 
cure no  pleasure. 

Epicurus  himself,  though  he  believed  that  he  should 
have  no  existence  after  death,  was  so  desirous  to  be  re- 
membered with  esteem,  that,  by  his  last  will,  he  ap- 
pointed his  heirs  to  commemorate  his  birth  annually, 
and  to  give  a  monthly  feast  to  his  disciples,  upon  the 
twentieth  day  of  the  moon.  AVhat  pleasure  could  this 
give  to  Epicurus  when  he  had  no  existence  ?  On  this 
account,  Cicero  justly  observes,  that  his  doctrine  was 
refuted  by  his  own  practice. 

Innumerable  instances  occur  in  life,  of  men  who  sac- 
rifice ease,  pleasure,  and  every  thing  else,  to  the  lust 
of  power,  of  fame,  or  even  of  knowledge.  It  is  ab- 
surd to  suppose,  that  men  should  sacrifice  the  end  to 
what  they  desire  only  as  the  means  of  promoting  that 
end. 

The  natural  desires  I  have  mentioned  are,  in  them- 
selves, neither  virtuous  nor  vicious.  They  are  parts 
of  our  constitution,  and  ought  to  be  regulated  and  re- 
strained, when  they  stand  in  competition  with  more 
important  principles.  But  to  eradicate  them  if  it  were 
possible,  and  I  believe  it  is  not,  would  only  be  like  cut- 
ting off  a  leg  or  an  arm,  that  is,  making  ourselves  other 
creatures  than  God  has  made  us. 

They  cannot,  with  propriety,  be  called  selfish  princi- 
ples, though  they  have  commonly  been  accounted  such. 

When  power  is  desired  for  its  own  sake,  and  not  as 
the  means  in  order  to  obtain  something  else,  this  de- 
sire is  neither  selfish  nor  social.    When  a  man  desires 


80  ESSAY    III. 

power  as  the  means  of  doing  good  to  others^  this  is  be- 
nevolence. "When  he  desires  it  onlj  as  the  means  of 
promoting  his  own  good,  this  is  self-love.  But  when 
he  desires  it  for  its  own  sake,  this  only  can  properly  be 
called  the  desire  of  power;  and  it  implies  neither  self- 
love  nor  benevolence.  The  same  thing  may  be  applied 
to  the  desires  of  esteem  and  of  knowledge. 

The  wise  intention  of  nature  in  giving  us  these  de- 
sires, is  no  less  evident  than  in  giving  our  natural  appe- 
tites. 

Without  the  natural  appetites,  reason,  as  was  before 
observed,  would  be  insufficient,  either  for  the  pres- 
ervation of  the  individual,  or  the  continuation  of  the 
species ;  and  without  the  natural  desires  we  have  men- 
tioned, human  virtue  would  be  insufficient  to  influence 
mankind  to  a  tolerable  conduct  in  society. 

To  these  natural  desires,  common  to  good  and  to 
bad  men,  it  is  owing,  that  a  man,  who  has  little  or  no 
regard  to  virtue,  may,  notwithstanding,  be  a  good  mem- 
ber of  society.  It  is  true,  indeed,  that  perfect  virtue, 
joined  with  perfect  knowledge,  would  make  both  our 
appetites  and  desires  unnecessary  incumbrances  of  our 
nature ;  but  as  human  knowledge  and  human  virtue 
are  both  very  imperfect,  these  appetites  and  desires  are 
iiecessary  supplements  to  our  imperfections. 

Society,  among  men  could  not  subsist  without  a  cer- 
tain degree  of  that  regularity  of  conduct  which  virtue 
prescribes.  To  this  regularity  of  conduct,  men  who 
have  no  virtue  are  induced  by  a  regard  to  character, 
sometimes  by  a  regard  to  interest. 

Even  in  those  who  are  not  destitute  of  virtue,  a  re- 
gard to  character  is  often  an  useful  auxiliary  to  it,  when 
both  principles  concur  in  their  direction. 

The  pursuits  of  power,  of  fame,  and  of  knowledge, 
require  self-command  no  less  than  virtue  does.  In 
our  behaviour  toward  our  fellow  creatures,  they  gen- 


07  DESIRES.  81 

erally  lead  to  that  very  conduct  which  virtue  requires. 
I  say  generally^  for  this,  no  doubt,  admits  of  excep- 
tions, especially  in  the  case  of  ambition,  or  the  desire 
of  power. 

The  evils  which  ambition  has  produced  in  the  world 
are  a  common  topic  of  declamation.  But  it  ought 
to  be  observed,  that  where  it  has  led  to  one  action  hurt- 
ful to  society,  it  has  led  to  ten  thousand  that  are  ben- 
eficial to  it.  And  we  justly  look  upon  the  want  of  am- 
bition as  one  of  the  most  unfavourable  symptoms  in  a 
man's  temper. 

The  desires  of  esteem  and  of  knowledge  are  highly 
useful  to  society,  as  well  as  the  desire  of  power,  and, 
at  the  same  time,  are  less  dangerous  in  their  excesses. 

Although  actions  proceeding  merely  from  the  love 
of  power,  of  reputation,  or  of  knowledge,  cannot  be  ac- 
counted virtuous,  [Note  O.]  or  be  entitled  to  moral  ap- 
probation ;  yet  we  allow  them  to  be  manly,  ingenuous, 
and  suited  to  the  dignity  of  human  nature ;  and  there- 
fore they  are  entitled  to  a  degree  of  estimation,  supe- 
rior to  those  which  proceed  from  mere  appetite. 

Alexander  the  Great  deserved  that  epithet  in  the 
early  part  of  his  life,  when  ease  and  pleasure,  and  every 
appetite,  were  sacrificed  to  the  love  of  glory  and  pow- 
er. But  when  we  view  him  conquered  by  oriental  lux- 
ury, and  using  his  power  to  gratify  his  passions  and  ap- 
petites, he  sinks  in  our  esteem,  and  seems  to  forfeit  the 
title  which  he  had  acquired. 

Sardanapalus,  who  is  said  to  have  pursued  pleasure 
as  eargerly  as  Alexander  pursued  glory,  never  obtained 
from  mankind  the  appellation  of  the  Great. 

Appetite  is  the  principle  of  most  of  the  actions  of 
brutes,  and  we  account  ^t  brutal  in  a  man  to  employ 
himself  chiefly  in  the  gratification  of  his  appetites. 
The  desires  of  power,  of  esteem,  and  of  knowledge,  are 
capital  parts  in  the  constitution  of  man  5  and  the 


82  F.SSAT  III. 

actions  proceeding  from  tlicni^  though  not  properly  vir- 
tuouS)  are  human  and  manly ;  and  they  claim  a  just 
superiority  over  those  that  proceed  from  appetite. 
This,  I  think,  is  the  universal  and  unbiassed  judgment 
of  mankind.  Upon  what  ground  this  judgment  is  found- 
ed, may  deserve  to  be  considered  in  its  proper  place. 

The  desires  we  have  mentioned  are  not  only  highly 
useful  in  society,  and  in  their  nature  more  noble  than 
our  appetites,  they  are  likewise  the  most  proper  en- 
gines that  can  be  used  in  the  education  and  discipline 
of  men. 

In  training  brute  animals  to  such  habits  as  they  are 
capable  of,  the  fear  of  punishment  is  the  chief  instru< 
ment  to  be  used.  But  in  training  men  of  ingenuous 
disposition,  ambition  to  excel,  and  the  love  of  esteem, 
are  much  nobler  and  more  powerful  engines,  by  which 
they  may  be  led  to  worthy  conduct,  and  trained  to 
good  habits. 

To  this  we  may  add,  that  the  desires  we  have  men- 
tioned are  very  friendly  to  real  virtue,  and  make  it 
more  easy  to  be  acquired. 

A  man  that  is  not  quite  abandoned  must  behave  so 
in  society  as  to  preserve  some  degree  of  reputation. 
This  every  man  desires  to  do,  and  the  greater  part  ac- 
tually do  it.  In  order  to  this,  he  must  acquire  the 
habit  of  restraining  his  appetites  and  passions  within 
the  bounds  which  common  decency  requires,  and  so  as 
to  make  himself  a  tolerable  member  of  society,  if  not 
an  useful  and  agreeable  one. 

It  cannot  be  doubted,  that  many,  from  a  regard  to 
eharacter  and  to  the  opinion  of  others,  are  led  to  make 
themselves  both  useful  and  agreeable  members  of  soci- 
ety, in  whom  a  sense  of  duty  has  but  a  small  influence. 

Thus  men,  living  in  society,  especially  in  polished 
society,  are  tamed  and  civilized  by  the  principles  that 
are  common  to  good  and  bad  men.    They  are  taught 


OF  DESIRES.  83 

to  bring  their  appetites  and  passions  under  due  restraint 
before  the  eyes  of  men,  whicli  makes  it  more  easy  to 
bring  them  under  the  rein  of  virtue. 

As  a  horse  that  is  broken  is  more  easily  managed 
than  an  unbroken  colt,  so  the  man  who  has  undergone 
the  discipline  of  society  is  more  tractable,  and  is  in  an 
excellent  state  of  preparation  for  the  discipline  of  vir- 
tue J  and  that  self-command,  which  is  necessary  in  the 
race  of  ambition  and  honor,  is  an  attainment  of  no 
small  importance  in  the  course  of  virtue. 

For  this  reason,  I  apprehend,  they  err  very  grossly 
who  conceive  the  life  of  a  hermit  to  be  favourable  to 
a  course  of  virtue.  The  hermit,  no  doubt,  is  free  from 
some  temptations  to  vice,  but  he  is  deprived  of  many 
strong  inducements  to  self-government,  as  well  as  of 
every  opportunity  of  exercising  the  social  virtues. 

A  very  ingenious  author  has  resolved  our  moral  sen- 
timents respecting  the  virtues  of  self-government,  into  a 
regard  to  the  opinion  of  men.  This  I  think  is  giving  a 
great  deal  too  much  to  the  love  of  esteem,  and  putting 
the  shadow  of  virtue  in  place  of  the  substance ;  but  that 
a  regard  to  the  opinion  of  others  is,  in  most  instances 
of  our  external  behaviour,  a  great  inducement  to  good 
conduct,  cannot  be  doubted.  For,  whatever  men  may 
practise  themselves,  they  will  always  approve  of  that 
in  others  which  they  think  right. 

It  was  before  observed,  that,  besides  the  appetites 
which  nature  has  given  us,  we  may  acquire  appetites 
which,  by  indulgence,  become  as  importunate  as  the 
natural.     The  same  thing  may  be  applied  to  desires. 

One  of  the  most  remarkable  acquired  desires  is  that 
of  money,  which,  in  commercial  states,  will  be  found 
in  most  men,  in  one  degree  or  other,  and,  in  some  men^ 
swallows  up  every  other  desire,  appetite  and  passion. 

The  desire  of  money  can  then  only  be  accounted  a 
pcineiple  of  action^  whem  it  is  desired  for  its  own  sake, 


Si  £SSAT   III. 

and  not  merely  as  the  means  of  procuring  something 
else. 

It  seems  evident,  that  there  is  in  misers  such  a  desire 
of  money ;  and,  T  suppose,  no  man  will  say  that  it  is 
natural,  or  a  part  of  our  original  constitution.  It  seems 
to  be  the  effect  of  habit. 

In  commercial  nations,  money  is  an  instrument  by 
which  almost  every  thing  may  be  procured  that  is  de- 
sired. Being  useful  for  many  different  purposes  as  the 
means,  some  men  lose  sight  of  the  end,  and  terminate 
their  desire  upon  the  means.  Money  is  also  a  species 
of  power,  putting  a  man  in  condition  to  do  many  things 
which  he  could  not  do  without  it ;  and  power  is  a  nat- 
ural object  of  desire,  even  when  it  is  not  exercised. 

In  like  manner,  a  man  may  acquire  the  desire  of  a 
title  of  honor,  of  an  equipage,  of  an  estate. 

Although  our  natural  desires  are  highly  beneficial  to 
society,  and  even  aiding  to  virtue,  yet  acquired  desires 
are  not  only  useless,  but  hurtful  and  even  disgraceful. 

No  man  is  ashamed  to  own  that  he  loves  power,  that 
be  loves  esteem,  that  he  loves  knowledge,  for  their  own 
sake.  There  may  be  an  excess  in  the  love  of  these 
things,  which  is  a  blemish  ;  but  there  is  a  degree  of  it, 
which  is  natural,  and  is  no  blemish.  To  love  money^ 
titles,  or  equipage,  on  any  other  account  than  as  they 
are  useful  or  ornamental,  is  allowed  by  all  to  be  weak- 
ness and  folly. 

The  natural  desires  I  have  been  considering,  though 
they  cannot  be  called  social  principles  of  action,  in  the 
common  sense  of  that  word,  since  it  is  not  their  object 
to  procure  any  good  or  benefit  to  others,  yet  they  have 
such  a  relation  to  society,  as  to  show  most  evidently 
the  intention  of  nature  to  be,  that  man  should  live  in 
society. 

The  desire  of  knowledge  is  not  more  natural  than  is 
the  desire  of  commuuicatiug  our  knowledge.    Even 


OF   DESIRES.  85 

power  would  be  less  valued  if  there  were  no  opportuni- 
ty of  showing  it  to  others.  It  derives  half  its  value 
from  that  circumstance.  And  as  to  the  desire  of  es- 
teem, it  can  have  no  possible  gratification  but  in  so- 
ciety. 

These  parts  of  our  constitution,  therefore,  are  evi- 
dently intended  for  social  life  j  and  it  is  not  more  evi- 
dent that  birds  were  made  for  flyiog,  and  fishes  for 
swinrmiug,  than  that  man,  endowed  with  a  natural  de- 
sire of  power,  of  esteem,  and  of  knowledge,  is  made,  not 
for  the  savage  and  solitary  state,  but  for  living  in  so- 
ciety. 


vox.  IV.  IS 


80  ESSAY  III. 

CHAP.  IJI. 

OF   JJENEVOiENT   AFFECTION   IN    GENERAL 

We  have  seen  how,  by  instinct  and  habit,  a  kind  of 
mechanical  principles,  man,  without  any  expense  of 
thought,  without  deliberation  or  will,  is  led  to  many  ac- 
tions, necessary  for  his  preservation  and  well  being, 
which,  without  those  principles,  all  his  skill  and  wis- 
dom would  not  have  been  able  to  accomplish. 

It  may  perhaps  be  thought,  that  his  deliberate  and 
voluntary  actions  are  to  be  guided  by  his  reason. 

But  it  ought  to  be  observed,  that  he  is  a  voluntary 
agent  long  before  he  has  the  use  of  reason.  Reason 
aud  virtue,  the  prerogatives  of  uian,  are  of  the  latest 
growth.  [Note  P.]  They  come  to  maturity  by  slow 
degrees,  and  are  too  weak,  in  the  greater  part  of  the 
species,  to  secure  the  preservation  of  individuals  and  of 
communities,  and  to  produce  that  varied  scene  of  hu- 
man life,  in  which  they  are  to  be  exercised  and  im- 
proved. 

Therefore  the  wise  Author  of  our  being  has  implant- 
ed in  human  nature  many  inferior  principles  of  action, 
which,  with  little  or  no  aid  of  reason  or  virtue,  preserve 
the  species,  and  produce  tlie  various  exertions,  and  the 
various  changes  and  revolutions  which  we  observe  upon 
the  theatre  of  life. 

In  this  busy  scene,  reason  and  virtue  have  access  to 
act  their  parts,  and  do  often  produce  great  and  good 
effects ;  but  whether  they  interpose  or  not,  there  are 
actors  of  an  inferior  order  that  will  carry  on  the  play, 
and  produce  a  variety  of  events,  good  or  bad. 

Reason,  if  it  were  perfect,  would  lead  men  to  use  the 
proper  means  of  preserving  their  own  lives,  and  con- 
tinuing their  kind.    But  the  Author  of  our  being  has 


OF  BENEVOLENT   AFFECTION   IN   GENEEAI..        87 

not  thought  fit  to  leave  this  task  to  reason  alone,  other- 
wise the  race  would  long  ago  have  been  extinct.  He 
has  given  us,  in  common  with  other  animals,  appetites, 
bj  which  those  important  purposes  are  secured,  wheth- 
er men  be  wise  or  foolish,  virtuous  or  vicious. 

Reason,  if  it  were  perfect,  would  lead  men  neither  to 
lose  the  benefit  of  their  active  powers  by  inactivity,  nor 
to  overstrain  them  by  excessive  labour.  But  nature 
has  given  a  powerful  assistant  to  reason,  by  making  in- 
activity a  grievous  punishment  to  itself;  and  by  annex- 
ing the  pain  of  lassitude  to  excessive  labour. 

Reason,  if  it  were  perfect,  would  lead  us  to  desit'c 
power,  knowledge,  and  the  esteem  and  affection  of  our 
fellow  men,  as  means  of  promoting  our  own  happiness, 
and  of  being  useful  to  others.  Here  again,  nature,  to 
supply  the  defects  of  reason,  has  given  us  a  strong  nat- 
ural desire  of  those  objects,  which  leads  us  to  pursue 
them  without  regard  to  their  utility. 

These  principles  we  have  already  considered ;  and, 
we  may  observe  that  all  of  them  have  things,  not  per- 
sons for  their  object.  They  neither  imply  any  good 
nor  ill  affection  toward  any  other  person,  nor  even  tow- 
ard ourselves.  They  cannot  therefore,  with  propriety, 
be  called  either  seTJish  or  social.  But  there  are  various 
principles  of  action  in  man,  which  have  persons  for  their 
immediate  object,  and  imply,  in  their  very  nature,  our 
being  well  or  ill  affected  to  some  person,  or,  at  least,  to 
some  animated  being. 

Such  principles  I  shall  call  by  the  general  name  of 
affections;  whether  they  dispose  us  to  do  good  oi^  hurt 
to  others. 

Perhaps,  in  giving  them  this  general  name,  I  extend 
the  meaning  of  the  word  affection  beyond  its  common 
use  in  discourse.  Indeed  our  language  seems  in  this 
to  have  departed  a  little  from  analogy :  for  we  use 
the  verb  affect,  and  the  participle  affected,  in  an  indif. 


8S  ESSAY   III. 

ferent  sense,  so  that  they  may  be  Joined  either  with 
good  or  ill.  A  man  may  be  said  to  be  ill  affected  tow- 
ard another  man,  ov  well  afiected.  But  the  word 
affection,  which,  according  to  analogy,  ought  to  have 
the  same  latitude  of  signification  with  that  from 
■which  it  is  derived,  and  therefore  ought  to  be  applica- 
ble to  ill  affections  as  well  as  to  good,  seems,  by  custom, 
to  be  limited  to  good  affections.  When  we  speak  of 
having  affection  for  any  person,  it  is  always  understood 
to  be  a  benevolent  affection. 

Malevolent  principles,  such  as  anger,  resentment, 
envy,  arc  not  commonly  called  affections,  but  rather 
•passions. 

I  take  the  reason  of  this  to  be,  that  the  malevolent 
affections  are  almost  always  accompanied  with  that 
perturbation  of  mind  which  we  properly  call  passion; 
and  this  passion,  being  the  most  conspicuous  ingredient, 
gives  its  name  to  the  whole. 

Even  love,  when  it  goes  beyond  a  certain  degree,  is 
called  a  passion.  But  it  gets  not  that  name  when  it  is 
so  moderate  as  not  to  discompose  a  man's  mind,  nor 
deprive  him  in  any  measure  of  the  government  of  him- 
self. 

As  we  give  the  name  of  passiont  even  to  benevolent 
affection  when  it  is  so  vehement  as  to  discompose  the 
mind,  so,  I  think,  without  trespassing  much  against 
propriety  of  words,  we  may  give  the  name  of  affection 
even  to  malevolent  principles,  when  unattended  with 
that  disturbance  of  mind  which  commonly,  though  not 
always,  goes  along  with  them,  and  which  has  made 
them  get  the  name  of  passions. 

The  principles  which  lead  us  immediately  to  desire 
the  good  of  others,  and  those  that  lead  us  to  desire 
their  hurt,  agree  in  this,  that  persons,  and  not  things, 
are  their  immediate  object.  Both  imply  our  being 
some  way  affected  toward  the  person.  They  ought 
therefore  to  have  some  common  name  to  express  what 


OP  BENEVOIENT   ArFECTION   IN   GENEKAL.         89 

is  common  in  their  nature  ;  and  I  know  no  name  more 
proper  for  this  than  affection. 

Taking  affection  therefore  in  this  extensive  sense, 
oup  affections  are  very  naturally  divided  into  benevo- 
lent and  malevolent,  according  as  they  imply  our  being 
well  or  ill  affected  toward  their  object. 

There  are  some  things  common  to  all  benevolent 
affections,  others  wherein  they  differ. 

They  differ  both  in  the  feeling,  or  sensation,  which 
is  an  ingredient  in  all  of  them,  and  in  the  objects  to 
which  they  are  directed. 

They  all  agree  in  two  things,  to  wit,  that  the  feel- 
ing which  accompanies  them  is  agreeable ;  and  that 
they  imply  a  desire  of  good  and  happiness  to  their  ob- 
ject. 

The  affection  we  bear  to  a  parent,  to  a  child,  to  a 
benefactor,  to  a  person  in  distress,  to  a  mistress,  differ 
not  more  in  their  object,  than  in  the  feelings  they  pro- 
duce in  the  mind.  We  have  not  names  to  express  the 
differences  of  these  feelings,  but  every  man  is  conscious 
of  a  difference.  Yet,  with  all  this  difference,  they  agree 
in  being  agreeable  feelings. 

I  know  no  exception  to  this  rule,  if  we  distinguish, 
as  we  ought,  the  feeling  which  naturally  and  necessari- 
ly attends  the  kind  affection,  from  those  which  acciden- 
tally, in  certain  circumstances  it  may  produce. 

The  parental  affection  is  an  agreeable  feeling ;  but 
it  makes  the  misfortune  or  misbehaviour  of  a  child  give 
a  deeper  wound  to  the  mind.  Pity  is  an  agreeable  feel- 
ing, yet  distress,  which  we  are  not  able  to  relieve, 
may  give  a  painful  sympathy.  Love  to  one  of  the 
other  sex  is  an  agreeable  feeling ;  but  where  it  does 
not  meet  with  a  proper  return,  it  may  give  the  most 
pungent  distress. 

The  joy  and  comfort  of  human  life  consists  in  the 
reciprocal  exercise  of  kind  affections,  and  without  thera 
life  would  be  undesirable. 


90  ESSAY    III. 

It  lias  been  observed  by  lord  Shaftesbury,  and  by 
many  otl»er  judicious  moralists,  that  even  the  epicure 
aud  the  debauchee,  >vho  are  thought  to  place  all  their 
happiness  in  the  gratiflcations  of  sense,  and  to  pursue 
these  as  their  only  object,  can  find  no  relish  in  solitary 
indulgences  of  this  kind,  but  in  those  only  that  are 
mixed  with  social  intercourse,  and  a  reciprocal  exchange 
of  kind  affections. 

Cicero  has  observed,  that  the  word  conviriuiriy  which 
in  Latin,  signifies  a  feast,  is  not  borrowed  from  eating 
or  from  drinking,  but  from  that  social  intercourse 
which,  being  the  chief  part  of  such  an  entertainment, 
gives  the  name  to'the  whole. 

Mutual  kind  affections  are  undoubtedly  the  balm  of 
life,  and  of  all  the  enjoyments  common  to  good  and 
bad  men,  are  the  chief.  If  a  man  had  no  person  whom 
lie  loved  or  esteemed,  no  person  who  loved  or  esteemed 
liim,  how  wretched  must  his  condition  be  ?  Surely  a 
man  capable  of  reflection  would  choose  to  pass  out  of 
existence,  rather  than  to  live  in  such  a  state. 

It  has  been,  by  the  poets,  represented  as  the  state  of 
some  bloody  and  barbarous  tyrants ;  but  poets  are  al- 
lowed to  paint  a  little  beyond  the  life.  Atreus  is  rep- 
resented as  saying,  Oderint  dum  metuunt.  "  I  care 
not  for  their  hatred,  providing  they  dread  my  power." 
I  believe  there  never  was  a  man,  so  disposed  toward 
all  mankind.  The  most  odious  tyrant  that  ever  was, 
will  have  his  favourites,  whose  affection  he  endeav- 
ours to  deserve  or  to  bribe,  and  to  whom  he  bears  some 
good  will. 

We  may  therefore  lay  it  down  as  a  principle,  that 
all  benevolent  affections  are,  in  their  nature,  agreeable ; 
and  that,  next  to  a  good  conscience,  to  which  they  arc 
always  friendly,  and  never  can  be  adverse,  they  make 
the  capital  part  of  human  happiness. 


OF  BENEVOIENT   AFFECTION   IN    GENERAL.  91 

Another  ingredieDt  essential  to  every  benevolent  af- 
fection, and  from  which  it  takes  the  name,  is  a  desire 
of  the  good  and  happiness  of  the  object. 

The  object  of  benevolent  affection,  therefore,  must 
be  some  being  capable  of  happiness.  When  we  speak 
of  affection  to  a  house,  or  to  any  inanimate  thing,  the 
word  has  a  different  meaning.  For  that  which  has  no 
capacity  of  enjoyment,  or  of  suffering,  may  be  an  ob- 
ject of  liking  or  disgust,  but  cannot  possibly  be  an  ob< 
ject  either  of  benevolent  or  malevolent  affection. 

A  thing  may  be  desired  either  on  its  own  account,  or 
as  the  means  in  order  to  something  else.  That  only 
can  properly  be  called  an  object  of  desire,  which  is  de- 
sired upon  its  own  account ;  and  it  is  only  such  desires 
that  I  call  principles  of  action.  When  any  thing  is  de- 
sired as  the  means  only,  there  must  be  an  end  for 
which  it  is  desired^  and  the  desire  of  the  end  is,  in  this 
case,  the  principle  of  action.  The  means  are  desired 
only  as  they  tend  to  that  end  ;  and  if  different,  or  even 
contrary  means  tended  to  the  same  end,  they  would  be 
equally  desired. 

On  this  account,  I  consider  those  affections  only  as 
benevolent,  where  the  good  of  the  object  is  desired  ulti- 
mately, and  not  as  the  means  only,  in  order  to  some- 
thing else. 

To  say  that  we  desire  the  good  of  others,  only  in  order 
to  procure  some  pleasure  or  good  to  ourselves,  is  to 
say  that  there  is  no  benevolent  affection  in  human  nature. 

This  indeed  has  been  the  opinion  of  some  philoso- 
phers, both  in  ancient  and  in  later  times.  I  intend  not 
to  examine  this  opinion  in  this  place,  conceiving  it 
proper  to  give  that  view  of  the  principles  of  action 
in  man,  which  appears  to  me  to  be  just,  before  I  exam- 
ine the  systems  wherein  they  have  been  mistaken  or 
misrepresented. 

I  observe  only  at  present,  that  it  appears  as  unrea- 
sonable to  resolve  all  our  benevolent  affections  into  self- 


92  ESSAY    III. 

love,  as  it  would  be  to  resolve  buuger  aud  thirst  into 
self-love. 

These  appetite  are  necessary  for  the  preservation  of 
the  individual.  Benevolent  affections  are  no  less  nec- 
essary for  the  preservation  of  society  among  men,  with- 
out which  man  would  become  an  easy  prey  to  the  beasts 
of  the  field. 

"We  are  placed  in  this  world,  by  the  Author  of  our 
being,  surrounded  with  many  objects  that  are  necessa- 
ry or  useful  to  us,  and  with  many  that  may  hurt  us. 
"We  are  led,  not  by  reason  and  self-love  only,  but  by 
many  instincts,  and  appetites,  and  natural  desires,  to 
seek  the  former,  and  to  avoid  the  latter. 

But  of  all  the  things  of  this  world,  man  may  be  the 
most  useful,  or  the  most  hurtful  to  man.  Every  man 
is  in  the  power  of  every  man  with  whom  he  lives. 
Every  man  has  power  to  do  much  good  to  his  fellow 
men,  and  to  do  more  hurt. 

We  cannot  live  without  the  society  of  men ;  and  it 
would  be  impossible  to  live  in  society,  if  men  were  not 
disposed  to  do  much  of  that  good  to  men,  and  but  lit- 
tle of  that  hurt,  which  it  is  in  their  power  to  do. 

But  how  shall  this  end,  so  necessary  to  the  existence 
of  human  society,  and  consequently  to  the  existence  of 
the  human  species  be  accomplished  ? 

If  we  judge  from  analogy,  we  must  conclude,  that 
in  this,  as  in  other  parts  of  our  conduct,  our  rational 
principles  are  aided  by  principles  of  an  inferior  order, 
similar  to  those  by  which  many  brute  animals  live  in 
society  with  their  species ;  and  that  by  means  of  such 
principles,  that  degree  of  regularity  is  observed,  which 
we  find  in  all  societies  of  men^  whether  wise  or  foolish^ 
"virtuous  or  vicious. 

The  benevolent  afiections  planted  in  human  nature^ 
appear  therefore  no  less  necessary  for  the  preservation 
of  the  human  species^  than  the  appetites  of  hunger  and 
thirst. 


OF  PARTICULAR  BENEVOLENT   AFFECTIONS.        9$ 

CHAP.  IV. 

OF  THE  PARTICULAR   BENEVOLENT  AFFECTIONS. 

Having  premised  these  things  in  general,  concern- 
ing benevolent  afiections,  I  shall  now  attempt  some 
enumeration  of  them. 

Ist,  The  first  I  mention  is  that  of  parents  and  chil- 
dren, and  other  near  relations. 

This  we  commonlj'  call  natural  affection.  Every 
language  has  a  name  for  it.  It  is  common  to  us  with 
most  of  the  brute  animals  ;  and  is  variously  modified 
in  different  animals,  according  as  it  is  more  or  less  nec- 
essary for  the  preservation  of  the  species. 

Many  of  the  insect  tribe  need  no  other  care  of  pa- 
rents, than  that  the  eggs  be  laid  in  a  proper  place, 
where  they  shall  have  neither  too  little  nor  too  much 
heat,  and  where  the  animal,  as  soon  as  it  is  hatched, 
shall  find  its  natural  food.  This  care  the  parent  takes, 
and  no  more. 

In  other  tribes,  the  young  must  be  lodged  in  some 
secret  place,  where  they  cannot  be  easily  discovered 
by  their  enemies.  They  must  be  cherished  by  the 
warmth  of  the  parent*s  body.  They  must  be  suckled, 
and  fed  at  first  with  tender  food  ;  attended  in  their  ex- 
cursions, and  guarded  from  danger,  till  they  have 
learned  by  experience,  and  by  the  example  of  their 
parents,  to  provide  for  their  own  subsistence  and  safe- 
ty. With  what  assiduity  and  tender  affection  this  is 
done  by  the  parents,  in  every  species  that  requires  it, 
is  well  known. 

The  eggs  of  the  feathered  tribe  are  commonly  hatch- 
ed by  incubation  of  the  dam,  who  leaves  off  at  once  her 
sprightly  motions  and  migrations,  and  confines  herself 
to  her  solitary  and  painful  task,  cheered  by  the  song 

VOL.  IV.  13 


9^  £SSA¥   III. 

of  her  mate  upon  a  neigbbouriiig  bougli,  and  sometimes 
fed  by  him,  sometimes  relieved  in  her  incubation,  while 
she  gathers  a  scanty  meal,  and  with  the  greatest  de- 
spatch returns  to  her  post. 

The  young  birds  of  many  species  are  so  very  tender 
and  delicate,  that  man,  >vith  all  his  wisdom  and  experi- 
ence, would  not  be  able  to  rear  one  to  maturity.  But 
the  parents,  without  any  experience,  know  perfectly 
how  to  rear  sometimes  a  dozen  or  more  at  one  brood, 
and  to  give  every  one  its  portion  in  due  season.  They 
know  the  food  best  suited  to  their  delicate  constitution, 
which  is  sometimes  afforded  by  nature,  sometimes  must 
be  cooked  and  half  digested  in  the  stomach  of  the 
parent. 

In  some  animals,  nature  has  furnished  the  femalo 
with  a  kind  of  second  womb,  into  which  the  young  re- 
tire occasionally,  for  food,  warmth,  and  the  convenicncy 
of  being  carried  about  with  the  mother. 

It  would  be  endless  to  reoount  all  the  various  ways  in 
which  the  parental  affection  is  expressed  by  brute  ani- 
mals. 

He  must,  in  my  apprehension,  have  a  very  strange 
complexion  of  understanding,  who  can  survey  the  vari- 
ous ways  in  which  the  young  of  the  various  species  are 
reared,  without  wonder,  without  pious  admiration  of 
that  manifold  Wisdom,  which  has  so  skilfully  fitted 
means  to  ends,  in  such  an  infinite  variety  of  ways. 

In  all  tiie  brute  animals  we  are  acquainted  with,  the 
end  of  the  parental  affection  is  completely  answered  ia 
a  short  time  ;  and  then  it  ceases  as  if  it  had  never  been. 

The  infancy  of  man  is  longer  and  more  helpless 
than  that  of  any  other  animal.  Tlie  parental  affection 
is  necessary  for  many  years ;  it  is  highly  useful  through 
life  ;  and  therefore  it  terminates  only  with  life.  It  ex- 
tends to  cliildren's  children  without  any  diraiqutiooi  of 
its  force.' 


OF  PARTICULAR   BENEVOXENT    AFFECTIONS.      95 

How  coinmon  is  it  <o  see  a  young  woman,  in  the 
gayest  period  of  life,  who  has  spent  her  clays  in  nai'tli, 
and  her  nights  in  profound  sleep,  wiHiout  solicitude  or 
care,  all  at  once  transformed  into  the  careful,  the  so- 
licitous, the  watchful  nurse  of  her  dear  infant  j  doing 
nothing  by  day  but  gazing  upon  it,  andserving  it  in  the 
meanest  offices ;  by  night,  depriving  herself  of  sound 
sleep  for  months,  that  it  may  lie  safe  in  her  arms. 
Forgetful  of  herself,  her  whole  care  is  centered  in  this 
little  object. 

Such  a  sudden  transformation  of  her  whole  habits, 
and  occupation,  and  turn  of  mind,  if  we  did  not  see  it 
every  day,  would  appear  a  more  wonderful  metamor- 
phosis ih^n  any  that  Ovid  has  described. 

This,  however,  is  the  work  of  nature,  and  not  the 
effect  of  reason  and  reflection.  For  we  see  it  in  the 
good,  and  in  the  bad,  in  the  most  thoughtless,  as  well 
as  in  the  thoughtful. 

Nature  has  assigned  different  departments  to  the 
father  and  mother  in  rearing  their  offspring.  This 
may  be  seen  in  many  brute  animals ;  and  that  it  is  so 
in  the  human  species,  was  long  ago  observed  by  Soc- 
rates, and  most  beautifully  illustrated  by  him,  as  we 
learn  from  Xenophon's  Oeconomicks.  The  parental 
affection  in  the  different  sexes  is  exactly  adapted  to  the 
office  assigned  to  each.  The  father  would  make  an 
awkward  nurse;  to  a  new-born  child,  ^nd  the  mother  too 
indulgent  a  guardian.  But  both  act  with  propriety 
and  grace  in  their  proper  sphere. 

It  is  very  remarkable,  that  when  the  office  of  rearing 
a  child  is  transferred  from  the  parent  to  another  per- 
son, nature  seems  to  transfer  the  affection  along  with 
the  office.  A  wet  nurse,  or  even  a  dry  nurse,  has 
commonly  the  same  affection  for  her  nursling,  as  if  she 
had  borne  it.  The  fact  is  so  well  knov/n  that  nothing 
needs  be  said  to  confirm  it  5  and  it  seems  to  be  the 
work  of  nature. 


96  ESSAY    111. 

Our  afleciions  are  not  immediately  in  our  power,  as 
our  outward  actions  are.  Nature  has  directed  them  to 
certain  objects.  AVe  may  do  kind  offices  without  affec- 
tion ;  but  we  cannot  create  an  affection  which  nature 
has  not  given. 

Keasoo  might  teach  a  man  that  his  children  are  par- 
ticularly committed  to  his  care  by  the  providence  of 
God,  and,  on  that  account,  that  he  ought  to  attend  to 
them  as  his  particular  charge ;  but  reason  could  not 
teach  him  to  love  them  more  than  other  children  of 
equal  merit,  or  to  be  more  afflicted  for  their  misfor- 
tunes or  misbehaviour. 

It  is  evident,  therefore,  that  that  peculiar  sensibility 
of  affection,  with  regard  to  his  own  children,  is  not  the 
eflTect  of  reasoning  or  reflection,  but  the  effect  of  that 
constitution  which  nature  has  given  him. 

There  are  some  affections  which  we  may  call  rution- 
alf  because  they  are  grounded  upon  an  opinion  of  merit 
in  the  object.  The  parental  affection  is  not  of  this  kind. 
For  though  a  man's  affection  to  his  child  may  be  in- 
creased by  merit,  and  diminished  by  demerit,  I  think 
no  man  will  say,  that  it  took  its  rise  from  an  opinion  of 
merit.  It  is  not  opinion  that  creates  the  affection,  but 
affection  often  creates  opinion.  It  is  apt  to  pervert  the 
judgment,  and  create-  an  opinion  of  merit  where  there 
is  none. 

The  absolute  necessity  of  this  parental  affection,  in 
order  to  the  continuance  of  the  human  species,  is  so  ap- 
parent, that  there  is  no  need  of  arguments  to  prove  it. 
The  rearing  of  a  child  from  its  birth  to  maturity  re- 
quires so  much  time  and  care,  and  such  infinite  atten- 
tions, that,  if  it  were  to  be  done  merely  from  consider- 
ations of  reason  and  duty,  and  were  not  sweetened  by 
affection  in  parents,  nurses,  and  guardians,  there  is  rea- 
son to  doubt,  whether  one  child  in  ten  thousand  would 
ever  be  reared.    [Note  Q.] 


OF  PARTICUIAB  BBNEVOXENT  AFFECTIONS.       97 

Besides  the  absolute  necessity  of  this  part  of  the  hu- 
•man  constitution  to  the  preservation  of  the  species,  its 
utility  is  very  great,  for  tempering  the  giddiness  and 
impetuosity  of  youth,  and  improving  its  knowledge  by 
the  prudence  and  experience  of  age,  for  encouraging 
industry  and  frugality  in  the  parents,  in  order  to  pro- 
vide for  their  children,  for  the  solace  and  support  of 
parents  under  the  infirmities  of  old  age ;  not  to  men- 
tion that  it  probably  gave  rise  to  the  first  civil  govern- 
ments. 

It  does  not  appear  that  the  parental,  and  other  family 
affections,  are,  in  general,  either  too  strong  or  too  weak, 
for  answering  their  end.  If  they  were  too  weak,  pa- 
rents would  be  most  apt  to  err  on  the  side  of  undue  se- 
verity ;  if  too  strong,  of  undue  indulgence.  As  they 
are  in  fact,  I  believe  no  man  can  say,  that  the  errors 
are  more  general  on  one  side  than  on  the  other. 

When  these  affections  are  exerted  according  to  their 
intention,  under  the  direction  of  wisdom  and  prudence, 
the  economy  of  such  a  family  is  a  most  delightful  spec- 
tacle, and  furnishes  the  most  agreeable  and  affecting 
subject  to  the  pencil  of  the  painter,  and  to  the  pen  of 
the  orator  and  poet. 

2dly,  The  next  benevolent  affection  I  mention,  is  grat- 
itude to  benefactors. 

That  good  ofiices  are,  by  the  very  constitution  of  our 
nature,  apt  to  produce  good  will  toward  the  benefac- 
tor, in  good  and  bad  men,  in  the  savage  and  in  the  civ- 
ilized, cannot  surely  be  denied  by  any  one,  in  the  least 
acquainted  with  human  nature. 

The  danger  of  perverting  a  man's  judgment  by  good 
deeds,  where  he  ought  to  have  no  bias,  is  so  well  known, 
that  it  is  dishonourable  in  judges,  in  witnesses,  in  elec- 
tors to  offices  of  trust,  to  accept  of  them ;  and,  in  all 
civilized  nations,  they  are^  in  such  cases;  prohibited,  as 
the  means  of  corruption. 


98'  ESSAY   III. 

Those  >vlio  would  corrupt  the  sentence  of  a  judge, 
the  testimony  of  a  witness,  or  the  vote  of  an  elector, 
know  well,  that  they  must  not  make  a  bargain,  or  stip- 
ulate what  is  to  be  done  in  return.  This  would  shock 
every  man  who  has  the  least  pretension  to  morals.  If 
the  person  can  only  be  prevailed  upon  to  accept  the 
good  office,  as  a  testimony  of  pure  and  disinterested 
friendship,  it  is  left  to  work  upon  his  gratitude.  He 
finds  himself  under  a  kind  of  moral  obligation  to  con- 
sider the  cause  of  his  benefactor  and  friend  in  the  most 
favourable  light.  He  finds  it  easier  to  justify  his  con- 
duct to  himself,  by  favouring  the  interest  of  his  bene- 
factor, than  by  opposing  it. 

Thus  the  principle  of  gratitude  is  supposed,  even  in 
the  nature  of  a  bribe.  Bad  men  know  how  to  make 
this  natural  principle  the  most  effectual  means  of  cor- 
ruption. The  very  best  things  may  be  turned  to  a  bad 
use.  But  the  natural  tendency  of  this  principle,  and 
the  intention  of  nature  in  planting  it  in  the  human 
breast,  are,  evidently,  to  promote  good  will  among  men, 
and  to  give  to  good  offices  the  power  of  multiplying 
their  kind,  like  seed  sown  in  the  earth,  which  brings  a 
return,  with  increase. 

"Whether  there  be,  or  be  not,  in  the  more  sagacious 
brutes,  something  that  may  be  called  gratitude,  I  will 
not  dispute.  We  must  allow  this  important  diffiirence 
between  their  gratitude  and  that  of  the  human  kind, 
that,  in  the  last,  the  mind  of  the  benefactor  is  chiefly 
regarded,  in  the  first,  the  external  action  only.  A  brute 
animal  will  be  as  kindly  affected  to  him  who  feeds  it 
in  order  to  kill  and  eat  it,  as  to  him  who  does  it  from 
affection. 

A  man  may  be  justly  entitled  to  our  gratitude,  for  an 
office  that  is  useful,  though  it  be,  at  the  same  time,  dis- 
agreeable ;  and  not  only  for  doing,  but  for  forbearing 
^vhat  he  had  a  right  to  do.    Among  men,  it  is  not  every 


OF  PARTICULAR  BENETOLENT  AFFECTIONS.        99 

beneficial  office  that  claims  our  gratitude,  but  sueli 
only  as  are  not  due  to  us  in  justice.  A  favour  alone 
gives  a  claim  to  gratitude;  and  a  favour  must  be 
something  more  than  justice  requires.  It  does  not  ap- 
pear that  brutes  have  any  conception  of  justice.  Tliey 
can  neither  distinguish  hurt  from  injury,  nor  a  favour 
from  a  good  office  that  is  due. 

Sdly,  A  third  natural  benevolent  affisction  is,  pity  and 
sompassion  toward  the  distressed. 

Of  all  persons,  those  in  distress  stand  most  in  need 
of  our  good  offices.  And,  for  that  reason,  the  Author 
of  nature  has  planted  in  the  breast  of  every  human 
creature  a  powerful  advocate  to  plead  their  cause. 

In  man,  and  in  some  other  animals,  there  are  signs 
of  distress,  which  nature  has  both  taught  them  to  use, 
and  taught  all  men  to  understand  without  any  inter- 
preter. These  natural  signs  are  more  eloquent  than 
language  ;  they  move  our  hearts,  and  produce  a  sym- 
pathy, and  a  desire  to  give  relief. 

There  are  few  hearts  so  hard,  but  great  distress  will 
conquer  their  anger,  their  indignation^  and  every  malev- 
olent affection. 

We  sympathize  even  with  the  traitor  and  with  the 
assassin,  when  we  see  him  led  to  execution.  It  is  on- 
ly self-preservation,  and  the  public  good,  that  makes 
us  reluctantly  assent  to  his  being  cut  off  from  among 
Bien. 

The  practice  of  the  Canadian  nations  toward  their 
prisoners  would  tempt  one  to  think,  that  they  have 
been  able  to  root  out  the  principle  of  compassion  from 
their  nature.  But  this,  I  apprehend,  would  be  a  rash 
conclusion*  It  is  only  a  part  of  the  prisoners  of  war 
that  they  devote  to  a  cruel  death.  This  gratifies  the 
revenge  of  the  women  and  children  who  have  lost  their 
husbands  and  fathers  in  the  war.  The  other  prison- 
ers are  kindly  used,  and  adopted  as  brethiren. 


1U(I  ESSAY  III. 

Compassion  with  bodily  pain  is  no  doubt  weakened 
among  these  savages^  because  they  are  trained  from 
their  infancy  to  be  superior  to  death,  and  to  every  de- 
gree of  pain ;  and  he  is  thought  unworthy  of  the  name 
of  a  man,  who  cannot  defy  his  tormentors,  and  sing 
his  death  song  in  the  midst  of  the  most  crnel  tor- 
tures. He  who  can  do  this,  is  honored  as  a  brave  man, 
though  an  enemy.  But  he  must  perish  in  the  experi- 
ment. 

A  Canadian  has  the  most  perfect  contempt  for  every 
man  who  thinks  pain  an  intolerable  evil.  And  nothing 
is  so  apt  to  stifle  compassion  as  contempt,  and  an  ap- 
prehension that  the  evil  suffered  is  nothing  but  what 
ought  to  be  manfully  borne. 

1.  must  also  be  observed,  that  savages  set  no  bounds 
to  their  revenge.  Those  who  find  no  protection  in  laws 
and  government  never  think  themselves  safe,  but  in 
the  destruction  of  their  enemy.  And  one  of  the  chief 
advantages  of  civil  government  is,  that  it  tempers  tho 
cruel  passion  of  revenge,  and  opens  the  heart  to  com- 
passion with  every  human  wo. 

It  seems  to  be  false  religion  only,  that  is  able  to 
check  the  tear  of  compassion. 

We  are  told,  that,  in  Portugal  and  Spain,  a  man 
condemned  to  be  burned  as  an  obstinate  heretic,  meets 
with  no  compassion,  even  from  the  multitude.  It  is 
true,  they  are  taught  to  look  upon  him  as  an  enemy 
to  God,  and  doomed  to  hell  fire.  But  should  not  this 
very  circumstance  move  compassion  ?  Surely,  it  would^ 
if  they  were  not  taught,  that,  in  this  case,  it  is  a  crime 
to  show  compassion,  or  even  to  feel  it. 

Mhly,  A  fourth  benevolent  affection  is,  esteem  of 
the  wise  and  the  good. 

The  worst  men  cannot  avoid  feeling  this  in  some  de- 
gree. Esteem,  veneration,  devotion,  are  different  de- 
grees of  the  same  affection.    The  perfection  of  wisdom^ 


OP  PAETICUIAR  BENEVOLENT   AFFECTIONS.      101 

power,  and  goodness,  which  belongs  only  to  the  Almigh- 
ty,  is  the  object  of  the  last. 

It  may  he  a  doubt,  whether  this  principle  of  esteem, 
as  well  as  that  of  gratitude,  ought  to  be  ranked  in  the 
order  of  animal  principles,  or  if  they  ought  not  rath- 
er to  be  placed  in  a  higher  order.  They  are  certainly 
more  allied  to  the  rational  nature  than  the  others  that 
have  been  named ;  nor  is  it  evident,  that  there  is  any 
thing  in  brute  animals  that  deserves  the  same  name. 

There  is  indeed  a  subordination  in  a  herd  of  cattle, 
and  in  a  flock  of  sheep,  which,  1  believe,  is  determined 
by  strength  and  courage,  as  it  is  among  savage  tribes 
of  men.  I  have  been  informed,  that,  in  a  pack  of 
bounds,  a  stanch  hound  acquires  a  degree  of  esteem  in 
the  pack ;  so  that,  when  the  dogs  are  wandering  in 
quest  of  the  scent,  if  he  opens,  the  pack  immediately 
closes  in  with  him,  when  they  would  not  regard  the 
opening  of  a  dog  of  no  reputation.  This  is  something 
like  a  respect  to  wisdom. 

But  I  have  placed  esteem  of  the  wise  and  good  in 
the  order  of  animal  principles,  not  from  any  persuasion 
that  it  is  to  be  found  in  brute  animals,  but  because, 
I  think,  it  appears  in  the  most  unimproved  and  in  the 
most  degenerate  part  of  our  species,  even  in  those  in 
whom  we  hardly  perceive  any  exertion,  either  of  reason 
or  virtue. 

I  will  not,  however,  dispute  with  any  man  who  thinks 
that  it  deserves  a  more  honorable  name  than  that  of  an 
animal  principle.  It  is  of  small  importance  what  name 
we  give  it,  if  we  are  satisfied  that  there  is  such  a  prin- 
ciple in  the  human  constitution. 

5thly,  Friendship  is  another  benevolent  affection. 

Of  this  we  have  some  instances  famous  in  history : 
few,  indeed ;  but  suflicient  to  show,  that  human  nature 
is  susceptible  of  that  extraordinary  attachment,  sym- 

VOl.   IV.  l* 


102  E3SAY   III. 

pathy,  and  aifection,  to  one  or  a  few  persons,  which 
the  ancients  thought  alone  worthy  of  the  name  of 
friendsliip. 

The  Epicureans  found  it  very  difficult  to  reconcile 
the  existence  of  friendship  to  the  principles  of  their 
sect.  They  were  not  so  bold  as  to  deny  its  existence. 
They  even  boasted  that  there  had  been  more  attach- 
ments of  that  kind  between  Epicureans  tlian  in  any 
other  sect.  But  the  difficulty  was,  to  account  for  real 
friendship  upon  Epicurean  principles.  They  went  in- 
to different  hypotheses  upon  this  point,  three  of  which 
are  explained  by  Torquatus  the  Epicurean,  in  Cicero's 
book,  Le  Finihus. 

Cicero,  in  his  reply  to  Torquatus,  examines  all 
the  three,  and  shows  them  all  to  be  either  inconsist- 
ent with  the  nature  of  true  friendship,  or  inconsist- 
ent with  the  fundamental  principles  of  the  Epicurean 
sect. 

As  to  the  friendship  which  the  Epicureans  boasted 
of  among  those  of  their  sect,  Cicero  does  not  question 
the  fact,  but  observes,  that,  as  there  are  many  whose 
practice  is  Avorse  than  their  principles,  so  there  are 
some  whose  principles  are  worse  than  their  practice* 
and  that  the  bad  principles  of  these  Epicureans  were 
overcome  by  the  goodness  of  their  nature. 

6thly,  Among  the  benevolent  affections,  the  passion 
of  love  between  the  sexes  cannot  be  overlooked. 

Although  it  is  commonly  the  theme  of  poets,  it  is 
not  unworthy  of  the  pen  of  the  philosopher,  as  it  is  a 
most  important  part  of  the  human  constitution. 

It  is  no  doubt  made  up  of  various  ingredients,  as 
many  other  principles  of  action  are,  but  it  certainly 
cannot  exist  without  a  very  strong  benevolent  affec- 
tion toward  its  object ;  in  whom  it  finds,  or  conceives, 
every  thing  that  is  amiable  and  excellent,  and  even 


OF   PARTICUXAR    BENEVOLENT   AFFECTIONS.        103 

something  more  than  human.  I  consider  it  here,  only 
as  a  benevolent  affection  natural  to  man.  And  that  it 
is  so,  no  man  can  doubt  who  ever  felt  its  force. 

It  is  evidently  intended  by  nature  to  direct  a  man  in 
the  choice  of  a  mate,  with  whom  he  desires  to  live,  and 
to  rear  an  ofispring. 

It  has  effectually  secured  this  end  in  all  ages,  and  in 
every  state  of  society. 

The  passion  of  love,  and  the  parental  affection,  are 
counterparts  to  each  other;  and  when  they  are  con- 
ducted with  prudence,  and  meet  with  a  proper  return^ 
are  the  source  of  all  domestic  felicity,  the  greatest, 
next  to  that  of  a  good  conscience,  which  this  world 
affords. 

As,  in  the  present  state  of  things,  pain  often  dwells 
near  to  pleasure,  and  sorrow  to  joy,  it  needs  not  be 
thought  strange,  that  a  passion,  fitted  and  intended  by 
nature  to  yield  the  greatest  worldly  felicity,  should, 
by  being  ill  regulated,  or  wrong  directed,  prove  the 
occasion  of  the  most  pungent  distress. 

But  its  joys  and  its  griefs,  its  different  modifications 
in  the  different  sexes,  and  its  influence  upon  the  char- 
acter of  both,  though  very  important  subjects,  are  fit- 
ter to  be  sung  than  said  $  and  I  leave  them  to  those 
who  have  slept  upon  the  two  topped  Parnassus. 

7thly,  The  last  benevolent  affection  I  shall  mention 
is,  what  we  commonly  call  pithlic  spirit,  that  is,  an  af- 
fection to  any  community  to  which  we  belong. 

If  there  be  any  man  quite  destitute  of  this  affection, 
he  must  be  as  great  a  monster  as  a  man  born  with  two 
heads.  Its  effects  are  manifest  in  the  whole  of  human 
life,  and  in  the  history  of  all  nations. 

The  situation  of  a  great  part  of  mankind,  indeed,  is 
such,  that  their  thoughts  and  views  must  be  confin- 
ed within  a  very  narrow  sphere,  and  be  very  much  en- 
grossed by  their  private  concerns.  "With  regard  to  an 
extensive  public^  such  as  a  state  or  nation^  they  are 


104  ESSAY    III. 

like  a  drop  to  the  ocean,  so  that  they  have  rarely  an 
opportunity  of  acting  with  a  view  to  it. 

In  many,  whose  actions  may  affect  the  public,  and 
whose  rank  and  station  lead  them  to  think  of  it,  pri- 
vate passions  may  be  nn  overmatch  for  public  spirit. 
All  that  can  be  inferred  from  this  is,  that  their  public 
spirit  is  weak,  not  that  it  does  not  exist. 

If  a  man  wishes  wall  to  the  public,  and  is  ready  to 
do  good  to  it  rather  than  hurt,  when  it  costs  him  noth- 
ing, he  has  some  affection  to  it,  though  it  may  be  scan- 
dalously weak  in  degree. 

I  believe  every  man  has  it  in  one  degree  or  another. 
What  man  is  there  who  does  not  resent  satirical  reflec- 
tions upon  his  country,  or  upon  any  community  of  which 
he  is  a  member  ? 

Whether  the  affection  be  to  a  college  or  to  a  cloister, 
to  a  clan  or  to  a  profession,  to  a  party  or  to  a  nation,  it 
is  public  spirit.  These  affections  differ  not  in  kind,  but 
in  the  extentof  their  object. 

The  object  extends  as  our  connections  extend ;  and  a 
sense  of  the  connection  carries  the  affection  along  with 
it  to  every  community  to  which  we  can  apply  the  pro- 
nouns we  and  our. 

Friend,  parent,  neighbour,  first  it  will  embrace. 

His  country  next,  and  then  all  human  race.  Pope. 

Even  in  the  misanthrope,  this  affection  is  not  extin- 
guished. It  is  overpowered  by  the  apprehension  he  has 
of  the  wortlilessness,  the  baseness,  and  the  ingratitude 
of  mankind.  Convince  him,  that  there  is  any  amiable 
quality  in  the  species,  and  immediately  his  philanthropy 
revives,  and  rejoices  to  find  on  object  on  which  it  can 
exert  itself. 

Public  spirit  has  this  in  common  with  every  subor- 
dinate principle  of  action,  that,  when  it  is  not  under 
the  government  of  reason  and  virtue,  it  may  produce 
much  evil  as  well  as  good.    Yet^  where  there  is  least  of 


or  PARTICULAR  BENEVOIENT   AFFECTIONS.    105 

reason  and  virtue^  to  regulate  it,  its  good  far  overbal- 
anees  its  ill. 

It  sometimes  kindles  or  inflames  animosities  between 
communities,  or  contending  parties,  and  makes  them 
treat  each  other  with  little  regard  to  justice.  It  kindles 
wars  between  nations,  and  makes  them  destroy  one 
another  for  trifling  causes.  But  without  it,  society 
could  not  subsist,  and  every  community  would  be  a 
rope  of  sand. 

When  under  the  direction  of  reason  and  virtue,  it  is 
the  very  image  of  God  in  the  soul.  It  diffuses  its  benign 
influence  as  far  as  its  power  extends,  and  participates 
in  the  happiness  of  God,  and  of  the  whole  creation. 

These  are  the  benevolent  afiections  which  appear 
to  me  to  be  parts  of  the  human  constitution. 

If  any  one  thinks  the  enumeration  incomplete,  and 
that  there  are  natural  benevolent  affections,  which  are 
not  included  under  any  of  those  that  have  been  named,  I 
shall  very  readily  listen  to  such  a  correction,  being  sen- 
sible that  such  enumerations  are  very  often  incomplete. 

If  others  should  think  that  any,  or  all,  the  affections 
I  have  named,  are  acquired  by  education,  or  by  habits 
and  associations  grounded  on  self  love,  and  are  not  orig- 
inal parts  of  our  constitution ;  this  is  a  point  upon  which, 
indeed,  there  has  been  much  subtile  disputation  in  an- 
cient and  modern  times,  and  which,  I  believe,  must  be 
determined  from  what  a  man,  by  careful  reflection,  may 
feel  in  himself,  rather  than  from  what  he  observes  in 
others.  But  I  decline  entering  into  this  dispute,  till  I 
shall  have  explained  that  principle  of  action  which  we 
commonly  call  self-love. 

I  shall  conclude  this  subject  with  some  reflections 
upon  the  benevolent  afiections. 

The  first  is,  that  all  of  them,  in  as  far  as  they  are 
benevolent,  in  which  view  only  I  consider  them,  agree 


106  ESSAY  III. 

very  much  in  the  conduct  tliey  dispose  us  to,  with  re- 
gard to  their  objects. 

They  dispose  us  to  do  them  good  as  far  as  wc  have 
power  and  opportunity ;  to  wish  them  well,  when  wc  can 
do  them  no  good ;  to  judge  favourably,  and  often  partial- 
ly, of  them  ;  to  sympathize  with  them  in  their  afflic- 
tions and  calamities ;  and  to  rejoice  with  them  in  their 
happiness  and  good  fortune. 

It  is  impossible  that  there  can  be  benevolent  affection 
without  sympathy,  both  with  the  good  and  bad  fortune 
of  the  object;  and  it  appears  to  be  impossible  that 
there  can  be  sympathy  without  benevolent  affection. 
Men  do  not  sympathize  with  one  whom  they  hate ;  nor 
«ven  with  one  to  whose  good  or  ill  they  are  perfectly 
indifferent. 

We  may  sympathize  with  a  perfect  stranger,  or  even 
with  an  enemy  whom  we  see  in  distress ;  but  this  is  the 
effect  of  pity ;  and  if  we  did  not  pity  him,  we  should  not 
sympathize  with  him. 

I  take  notice  of  this  the  rather,  because  a  very  in- 
genious author,  in  his  Theory  of  Moral  Sentiments, 
gives  a  very  different  account  of  the  origin  of  sympa- 
thy. It  appears  to  me  to  be  the  effect  of  benevolent 
affection,  and  to  be  inseparable  from  it. 

A  second  reflection  is,  that  the  constitution  of  our 
nature  very  powerfully  invites  us  to  cherish  and  culti- 
vate in  our  minds  the  benevolent  affections. 

The  agreeable  feeling  which  always  attends  them  as 
a  present  reward,  appears  to  be  intended  by  nature  for 
this  purpose. 

Benevolence,  from  its  nature,  composes  the  mind* 
warms  the  heart,  enlivens  the  whole  frame,  and  bright- 
ens every  feature  of  the  countenance.  It  may  justly 
be  said  to  be  medicinal  both  to  soul  and  body.  "We  are 
bound  to  it  by  duty ;  we  are  invited  to  it  by  interest ; 


OF  PARTICtJlAR  BENEVOLENT  AFFECTIONS.       ±&T 

and  because  both  these  cords  are  often  feeble,  >Ye  have 
natural  kind  affections  to  aid  them  in  their  operation, 
and  supply  their  defects  ;  and  these  affections  are  joined 
\rith  a  nianl)^  pleasure  in  their  exertion. 

A  third  reflection  is,  that  the  natural  benevolent 
affections  furnish  the  most  irresistible  proof,  that  the 
Author  of  our  nature  intended  that  we  should  live  in  so- 
ciety, and  do  good  to  our  fellow  men  as  we  have  oppor- 
tunity ;  since  this  great  and  important  part  of  the  hu- 
man constitution  has  a  manifest  relation  to  society,  and 
can  have  no  exercise  nor  use  in  a  solitary  state. 

The  last  reflection  is,  that  the  dififerent  principles 
of  action  have  different  degrees  of  dignity,  and  rise  one 
above  another  in  our  estimation,  when  we  make  them 
objects  of  contemplation. 

We  ascribe  no  dignity  to  instincts  or  to  habits.  They 
lead  us  only  to  admire  the  wisdom  of  the  Creator,  in 
adapting  them  so  perfectly  to  the  manner  of  life  of  tlie 
different  animals  in  which  they  are  found.  Much  the 
same  may  be  said  of  appetites.  They  serve  rather  for 
use  than  ornament. 

The  desires  of  knowledge,  of  power,  and  of  esteem, 
rise  higher  in  our  estimation,  and  we  consider  them  as 
giving  dignity  and  ornament  to  man.  The  actions  pro* 
ceeding  from  them,  though  not  properly  virtuous,  are 
manly  and  respectable,  and  claim  a  just  superiority 
over  those  that  proceed  merely  from  appetite.  This,  I 
think,  is  the  uniform  judgment  of  mankind. 

If  we  apply  the  same  kind  of  judgment  to  our  benev- 
olent affections,  they  appear  not  only  manly  and  re- 
spectable, but  amiable  in  a  high  degree. 

They  are  amiable  even  in  brute  animals.  We  love 
the  meekness  of  the  Iamb,  the  gentleness  of  the  dove, 
the  affection  of  a  dog  to  his  master.  We  cannot,  with- 
out pleasure,  observe  the  timid  ewe,  who  never  showed 
the  least  degree  of  courage  in  her  own  defence,  become 


lOS  ESSAY  III. 

valiant  and  intrepid  in  defence  of  her  Iamb,  and  bold- 
Ij  assault  those  enemies,  the  very  sight  of  whom  was 
■wont  to  put  her  to  flight. 

How  pleasant  is  it  to  see  the  family  economy  of  a 
pair  of  little  birds  in  rearing  their  tender  ofl'spring ;  the 
conjugal  affection  and  fidelity  of  the  parents;  their 
cheerful  toil  and  industry  in  providing  food  for  their 
family ;  their  sagacity  in  concealing  their  habitation ; 
the  arts  they  use,  often  at  the  peril  of  their  own  lives, 
to  decoy  hawks,  and  other  enemies,  from  their  dwell- 
ing place,  and  the  affliction  they  feel  ^vhen  some  un- 
lucky boy  has  robbed  them  of  the  dear  pledges  of  their 
affection,  and  frustrated  all  their  hopes  of  their  rising 
family  ? 

If  kind  affection  be  amiable  in  brutes,  it  is  not  less 
so  in  our  own  species.  Even  the  external  signs  of  it 
have  a  powerful  charm. 

Every  one  knows  that  a  person  of  accomplished 
good  breeding,  charms  every  one  he  converses  with. 
And  what  is  this  good  breeding  ?  If  we  analyze  it,  we 
shall  find  it  to  be  made  up  of  looks,  gestures,  and 
speeches,  M'hieh  are  the  natural  signs  of  benevolence 
and  good  affection.  He  who  has  got  the  habit  of 
using  these  signs  Avith  propriety,  and  without  meanness^ 
is  a  well  bred  and  polite  man. 

What  is  that  beauty  in  the  features  of  the  face,  par- 
ticularly of  the  fair  sex,  which  all  men  love  and  ad- 
mire? I  believe  it  consists  chiefly  in  the  features  which 
indicate  good  affections.  Every  indication  of  meekness, 
gentleness,  and  benignity,  is  a  beauty.  On  the  con- 
trary, every  feature  that  indicates  pride,  passion,  envy, 
and  malignity,  is  a  deformity. 

Kind  affections,  therefore,  are  amiable  in  brutes. 
Even  the  signs  and  shadows  of  them  are  highly  attrac- 
tive in  our  own  species.  Indeed  they  are  the  joy  and 
the  comfort  of  human  life,  not  to  good  men  only,  but 
even  to  the  vicious  aad  dissolute. 


OF  PARTICULAR  BENEVOLENT   AFFECTIONS.      109 

Without  society,  and  the  intercourse  of  kind  affec- 
tion, man  is  a  gloomy,  melancholy,  and  joyless  heing. 
His  mind  oppressed  with  cares  and  fears,  he  cannot 
enjoy  the  balm  of  sound  sleep;  in  constant  dread  of 
impending  danger,  he  starts  at  the  rustling  of  a  leaf. 
His  ears  are  continually  upon  the  stretch,  and  every 
zephyr  brings  some  sound  that  alarms  him. 

When  he  enters  into  society,  and  feels  security  in 
the  good  affection  of  friends  and  neighbours,  it  is  then 
only  that  his  fear  vanishes,  and  his  mind  is  at  ease. 
His  courage  is  raised,  his  undcrstandipg  is  enlightened, 
and  his  heart  dilates  with  joy. 

Human  society  may  be  compared  to  a  heap  of  em- 
bers, which,  when  placed  asunder,  can  retain  neither 
their  light  nor  heat,  amidst  the  surrounding  elements  ; 
but  when  brought  together  they  mutually  give  heat 
and  light  to  each  other;  the  flame  breaks  forth,  and 
Mot  only  defends  itself^  but  subdues  everything  around 
it. 

The  security,  the  happiness,  and  the  strength  of  hu- 
man society,  spring  solely  from  the  reciprocal  benevo- 
lent affections  of  its  members. 

The  benevolent  affections,  though  they  be  all  hon- 
orable and  lovely,  are  not  all  equally  so.  There  is  a 
subordination  among  them  ;  and  the  honor  we  pay  to 
them  generally  corresponds  to  the  extent  of  their  ob- 
ject. 

The  good  husband,  the  good  father,  the  good  friend^ 
the  good  neighbour,  we  honor  as  a  good  man  worthy 
of  our  love  and  affection.  But  the  man  in  whom  these 
jnore  private  affections  are  swallowed  up  in  zeal  for 
the  good  of  his  country,  and  of  mankind,  who  goes 
about  doing  good,  and  seeks  opportunities  of  being  use- 
ful to  his  species,  we  revere  as  more  than  a  good  man, 
as  a  herO)  as  a  good  angel. 

VOL.  IV.  iB 


\ 


110  ESSAY  III. 

CHAP.  V. 

OF   J^ALEVOIENT   AFFECTION. 

Are  there,  in  the  constitution  of  man,  any  affections 
that  may  be  called  malevolent^  What  are  they?  And 
what  is  their  use  and  end  ? 

To  me  there  seem  to  be  two,  which  we  may  call 
by  that  name.  They  are  emulation  and  resentment. 
These  I  take  to  -  be  parts  of  the  Iiuman  constitution, 
given  us  by  our  Maker  for  good  ends  ;  and,  when  prop- 
erly directed  and  regulated,  of  excellent  use.  But,  as 
their  excess  or  abuse,  to  which  human  nature  is  very 
prone,  is  the  source  and  spring  of  all  the  malevolence 
that  is  to  be  found  among  men,  it  is  on  that  account  I 
call  them  malevolent. 

If  any  man  thinks  that  they  deserve  a  softer  name, 
since  they  may  be  exercised  according  to  the  intention 
of  nature,  without  malevolence,  to  this  I  have  no  ob- 
jection. 

By  emulation,  I  mean,  a  desire  of  superiority  to  our 
rivals  in  any  pursuit,  accompanied  with  an  uneasiness 
at  being  surpassed. 

Human  life  has  justly  been  compared  to  a  race. 
The  prize  is  superiority  in  one  kind  or  another.  But 
the  species  or  forms,  if  I  may  use  the  expression,  of 
superiority  among  men  are  infinitely  diversified. 

There  is  no  man  so  contemptible  in  his  own  eyes,  as 
to  hinder  him  from  entering  the  lists  in  one  form  or 
another ;  and  he  will  always  find  competitors  to  rival 
him  in  his  own  way. 

We  see  emulation  among  brute  animals.  Dogs  and 
horses  contend  each  with  his  kind  in  the  race.  Many 
animals  of  the  gregarious  kind  contend  for  superiority 


or   MALEVOIENT   AFFECTION.  HI 

in  their  flock  or  herd,  and  show  manifest  signs  of  jeal- 
ousy when  others  pretend  to  rival  tliem. 

The  emulation  of  the  brute  animals  is  mostly  con- 
fined to  swiftness,  or  strength,  op  fatour  with  their  fe- 
males. But  the  emulation  of  the  human  kind  has  a 
much  wider  field. 

In  every  profession,  and  in  every  accomplishment 
of  body  or  mind,  real  or  imaginary,  there  are  rival- 
ships.  Literary  men  rival  one  another  in  literary  abil- 
ities. Artists  in  their  several  arts.  The  fair  sex  in 
their  beauty  and  attractions,  and  in  the  respect  paid 
them  by  the  other  sex. 

In  every  political  society,  from  a  petty  corporation 
up  to  the  national  administration^  there  is  a  rivalship 
for  power  and  influence. 

Men  have  a  natural  desire  of  power  without  respect 
to  the  power  of  others.  This  we  call  amhition.  But 
the  desire  of  superiority,  either  in  power,  or  in  any 
thing  we  think  worthy  of  estimation,  has  a  respect  to 
rivals,  and  is  what  we  properly  call  emulation. 

The  stronger  the  desire  is,  the  more  pungent  will  be 
the  uneasiness  of  being  found  behind,  and  the  mind 
will  be  the  more  hurt  by  this  humiliating  view. 

Emulation  has  a  manifest  tendency  to  improvement. 
Without  it  life  would  stagnate,  and  the  discoveries  of 
art  and  genius  would  be  at  a  stand.  This  principle 
produces  a  constant  fermentation  in  society,  by  which, 
though  dregs  may  be  produced,  the  better  part  is  pu- 
rified and  exalted  to  a  perfection,  which  it  could  not 
otherwise  attain. 

We  have  not  sufficient  data  for  a  comparison  of  the 
good  and  bad  eflTects  which  this  principle  actually  pro- 
duces in  society;  but  there  is  ground  to  think  of  this, 
as  of  other  natural  principles,  that  the  good  over- 
balances the  ill.  As  far  as  it  is  under  the  dominion  of 
reason  and  virtue^  its  eifects  are  always  good  ^  when 


112  ESSAY    III. 

left  to  be  guided  by  passion   and  folly,  they  are  often 
very  bad. 

Reason  directs  us  to  strive  for  superiority  only  in 
things  that  have  real  excellence,  otherwise  we  spend 
our  labour  for  that  which  proiiieth  not.  To  value 
ourselves  for  superiority  in  things  that  have  no  real 
worth,  or  none,  compared  with  what  they  cost,  is  to  be 
vain  of  our  own  folly  ;  and  to  be  uneasy  at  the  superi- 
ority of  others  in  such  things,  is  no  less  ridiculous. 

Reason  directs  us  to  strive  for  superiority  only  in 
things  in  our  power,  and  attainable  by  our  exertion, 
otherwise  we  shall  be  like  the  frog  in  the  fable,  who 
swelled  herself  till  she  burst,  in  order  to  equal  the  ox 
in  magnitude. 

To  check  all  desire  of  things  not  attainable,  and 
every  uneasy  thought  in  the  want  of  them,  is  an  obvious 
dictate  of  prudence,  as  well  as  of  virtue  and  religion. 

If  emulation  be  regulated  by  such  maxims  of  rea- 
son, and  all  undue  partiality  to  ourselves  be  laid  aside, 
it  will  be  a  powerful  principle  of  our  improvement, 
without  hurt  to  any  other  person.  It  will  give  strength 
to  the  nerves,  and  vigour  to  the  mind,  in  every  noble 
and  manly  pursuit. 

But  dismal  are  its  effects,  when  it  is  not  under  the 
direction  of  reason  and  virtue.  It  has  often  the  most 
malignant  influence  on  men's  opinions,  on  their  affec- 
tions, and  on  their  actions. 

It  is  an  old  observation,  that  affection  follows  opin- 
ion ;  and  it  is  undoubtedly  true  in  many  cases.  A  man 
cannot  be  grateful  without  the  opinion  of  a  favour  done 
him.  He  cannot  have  deliberate  resentment  without 
the  opinion  of  an  injury;  nor  esteem  without  the  opin- 
ion of  some  estimable  quality ;  nor  compassion  without 
the  opinion  of  suffering. 

But  it  is  no  less  true,  that  opinion  sometimes  follows 
affection^  not  that  it  ought,  but  that  it  actually  does  so, 


OF   MALEVOLENT   AFFECTION,  US 

hy  giving  a  false  bias  to  our  judgment.  "We  are 
apt  to  be  partial  to  our  friends,  and  still  more  to  our- 
selves. 

Hence  the  desire  of  superiority  leads  men  to  put  an 
undue  estioiation  upon  those  things  wherein  they  ex- 
cel, OP  think  the^'  excel.  And,  by  this  means,  pride 
may  feed  itself  upon  the  very  dregs  of  human  nature. 

The  same  desire  of  superiority  may  lead  men  to  un- 
dervalue those  things  wherein  they  eilher  despair  of 
excelling,  or  care  not  to  make  the  exertion  necessary 
for  that  end.  The  grapes  are  sour,  said  (he  fox,  when 
he  saw  them  beyond  his  reach.  The  same  principle 
leads  men  to  detract  from  the  merit  of  others,  and  to 
impute  their  brightest  actions  to  mean  or  bad  motives. 

He  who  runs  a  race  feels  uneasiness  at  seeing  anoth- 
er outstrip  him.  Tliis  is  uneorrupted  nature,  and  the 
-work  of  God  within  him.  But  this  uneasiness  may 
produce  either  of  two  very  different  effects.  It  may 
incite  him  to  make  more  vigorous  exertions,  and  to 
strain  every  nerve  to  get  before  his  rival.  This  is  fair 
and  honest  emulation.  This  is  the  effect  it  is  intended 
to  produce.  But  if  he  has  not  fairness  and  candour  of 
heart,  he  will  look  with  an  evil  eye  upon  his  competi- 
tor, and  will  endeavour  to  trip  him,  or  to  throw  a 
stumbling  block  in  his  way.  This  is  pure  envy,  the 
most  malignant  passion  that  can  lodge  in  the  human 
breast ;  which  devours,  as  its  natural  food,  the  fame 
and  the  happiness  of  those  who  are  most  deserving  of 
our  esteem. 

If  there  be,  in  some  men,  a  proneness  to  detract  from 
the  character,  even  of  persons  unknown  or  indifferent, 
in  others  an  avidity  to  hear  and  to  propagate  scandal,  to 
v/hat  principles  in  human  nature  must  we  ascribe  these 
qualities  ?  The  failings  of  others  surely  add  nothing  to 
our  worth,  nor  are  they,  in  themselves,  a  pleasant  sub- 
ject of  thought  or  of  discourse.    But  they  flatter  pride) 


114  ESSAY  III. 

by  giving  an  opinion  of  ouv  superiority  to  those  from 
whom  we  detract. 

Is  it  not  possible,  that  the  same  desire  of  superiori- 
ty may  have  some  secret  influence  upon  those  who  love 
to  display  their  eloquence  in  declaiming  upon  the  cor- 
ruption of  human  nature,  and  the  wickedness,  fraud 
and  insincerity  of  mankind  in  general  ?  It  ought  always 
to  be  taken  for  granted,  that  the  declaimer  is  an  excep- 
tion to  the  general  rule,  otherwise  he  would  rather 
choose,  even  for  his  own  sake,  to  draw  a  veil  over  the 
nakedness  of  his  species.  But,  hoping  that  his  audi- 
ence will  be  so  civil  as  not  to  include  him  in  the  black 
description,  he  rises  superior  by  the  depression  of  the 
species,  and  stands  alone,  like  Noah  in  the  anted! - 
iuvian  world.  This  looks  like  envy  against  the  human 
race. 

It  would  be  endless,  and  no  ways  agreeable,  to  enu- 
merate all  the  evils  and  all  the  vices  which  passion  and 
folly  beget  upon  emulation.  Here,  as  in  most  cases,  the 
corruption  of  the  best  things  is  the  worst.  In  brute 
animals,  emulation  has  little  matter  to  work  upon,  and 
its  eftects,  good  or  bad,  are  few.  It  may  produce  bat- 
tles of  cocks,  and  battles  of  bulls,  and  little  else  that  is 
observable.  But  in  mankind,  it  has  an  infinity  of  mat- 
ter to  work  upon,  and  its  good  or  bad  efiects,  according 
as  it  is  well  or  ill  regulated  and  directed^  multiply  in 
proportion. 

The  conclusion  to  be  drawn  from  what  has  been  said 
upon  this  principle  is,  that  emulation,  as  far  as  it  is  a 
part  of  our  constitution,  is  highly  useful  and  important 
in  society ;  that  in  the  wise  and  good,  it  produces  the 
best  effects  without  any  harm ;  but  in  the  foolish  and 
vicious,  it  is  the  parent  of  a  great  part  of  the  evils  of 
life,  and  of  the  most  malignant  vices  that  stain  human 
nature. 

We  are  next  to  consider  resentment. 


OF  MALEVOXENT   AFFECTION.  115 

Nature  disposes  us,  when  we  are  hurt,  to  resist  and 
retaliate.  Besides  the  bodily  pain  occasioned  by  the 
hurt,  the  mind  is  ruffled,  and  a  desire  raised  to  retaliate 
upon  the  author  of  the  hurt  or  injury.  This,  in  gener- 
al, is  what  we  call  anger  or  resentment. 

A  very  important  distinction  is  made  by  bishop  But- 
ler between  sudden  resentment,  which  is  a  blind  im- 
pulse arising  from  our  constitution,  and  that  which  is 
deliberate.  The  first  may  be  raised  by  hurt  of  any 
kind ;  but  the  last  can  only  be  raised  by  injury,  real  or 
conceived. 

The  same  distinction  is  made  by  lord  Karnes  in  his 
Elements  of  Criticism.  What  Butler  calls  sudden,  he 
ealls  instinctive. 

We  have  not,  in  common  language,  different  names 
for  these  different  kinds  of  resentment ;  but  the  distinc- 
tion is  very  necessary,  in  order  to  our  having  just  no- 
tions of  this  part  of  the  human  constitution.  It  corres- 
ponds perfectly  with  the  distinction  I  have  made  be- 
tween the  animal  and  rational  principles  of  action. 
For  this  sudden  or  instinctive  resentment,  is  an  ani- 
mal principle  common  to  us  with  brute  animals.  But 
that  reseqtment  which  the  authors  I  have  named  call 
deliberate,  must  fall  under  the  class  of  rational  princi- 
ples. 

It  is  to  be  observed,  however,  that,  by  referring  it  to 
that  class,  I  do  not  mean>  that  it  is  always  kept  within 
the  bounds  that  reason  prescribes,  but  only  that  it  is 
proper  to  man  as  a  reasonable  being,  capable  by  his  ra- 
tional faculties,  of  distinguishing  between  hurt  and  in- 
jury ;  a  distinction  which  no  brute  animal  can  make. 

Both  these  kinds  of  resentment  are  raised,  whether 
the  hurt  or  injury  be  done  to  ourselves,  or  to  those  we 
are  interested  in. 

Wherever  there  is  any  benevolent  affection  toward 
others,  we  resent  their  wrongs,  in  proportion  to  the 


1149  BSSAT   III. 

strength  of  our  affection.  Pity  and  sympathy  with  the 
sutTerei*.  produce  resentment  at^ainst  tiie  author  of  the 
suffering,  as  naturally  as  concern  for  ourselves  produces 
resentment  of  our  own  wrongs. 

I  shall  first  consider  that  resentment  which  I  call 
animal,  which  Builer  calls  sudden,  and  lord  Karnes  in- 
siinciive. 

In  every  animal  to  which  nature  has  given  the  power 
of  luirting  its  enemy,  we  see  an  endeavour  to  retaliate 
the  ill  that  is  done  to  it.  Even  a  mouse  will  hite  when 
it  cannot  run  away. 

Perhaps  there  may  he  some  animals  to  whom  nature 
has  given  no  offiensive  weapon.  To  such,  anger  and  re- 
sentment would  he  of  no  use;  and  I  helieve  we  shall 
find,  that  they  never  show  any  sign  of  it.  But  there 
arc  few  of  this  kind. 

Some  of  the  more  sagacious  animals  can  be  pro- 
voked to  fierce  anger,  and  retain  it  long.  Many  of  therai 
show  great  animosity  in  defending  their  young,  who 
hardly  show  any  in  defending  themselves.  Others  re- 
sist every  assault  made  upon  the  flock  or  herd  to  which 
they  belong.  Bees  defend  their  hive,  wild  beasts  their 
den,  and  birds  their  nest. 

This  sudden  resentment  operates  in  a  similar  manner 
in  men  and  in  brutes,  and  appears  to  be  given  by  na- 
ture to  both  for  the  same  end,  namely,  for  defence, 
even  in  cases  where  there  is  no  time  for  deliberation. 
It  may  be  compared  to  (hat  natural  instinct  by  which 
a  man  who  has  lost  his  balance  and  begins  to  fall, 
makes  a  sudden  and  violent  effort  to  recover  himself^ 
without  any  intention  or  deliberation. 

in  such  efforts,  men  oflen  exert  a  degree  of  muscu- 
lar strength  beyond  what  they  are  able  to  exert  by  a 
ealm  determination  of  the  will,  and  thereby  save  them- 
selves from  many  a  dangerous  fall. 

By  a  like  violent  and  sudden  impulse,  nature  prompts 
us  to  repel  hurt>  upon  the  cause  of  it,  whether  it  be 


OF  MALEVOLENT  AFFECTION.        117 

man  or  beast.  The  instinct  before  mentioned  is  solely 
defensive,  and  is  prompted  by  fear;  this  sudden  resent- 
ment is  offensive,  and  is  prompted  by  anger,  but  with  a 
view  to  defence. 

Man,  in  his  present  state,  is  surrounded  with  so 
many  dangers  from  his  own  species,  from  brute  ani- 
mals, from  every  thing  around  him,  that  he  has  need 
of  some  defensive  armour  (hat  shall  always  be  ready  in 
the  moment  of  danger.  His  reason  is  of  great  use  fop 
this  purpose,  when  there  is  time  to  apply  it.  But,  in 
many  eases,  the  mischief  would  be  done  before  reason 
could  think  of  the  means  of  preventing  it. 

The  wisdom  of  nature  has  provided  two  means  to 
supply  this  defect  of  our  reason.  One  of  these  is  the 
instinct  before  mentioned,  by  which  the  body,  upon  the 
appearance  of  danger,  is  instantly,  and  without  (houHit 
or  intention,  put  in  that  posture  which  is  proper  for 
preventing  the  danger,  or  lessening  it.  Thus,  we  wink 
hard  when  our  eyes  are  threatened  ;  we  bend  the  body 
to  avoid  a  stroke ;  we  make  a  sudden  effort  to  recover 
our  balance,  when  in  danger  of  falling.  By  such 
means  we  are  guarded  from  many  dangers  which  our 
reason  would  come  too  late  to  prevent. 

But  as  offensive  arms  are  often  the  surest  means  of 
defence,  by  deterring  the  enemy  from  an  assault,  na- 
ture has  also  provided  man,  and  other  animals,  with 
this  kind  of  defence,  by  that  sudden  resentment  of 
which  we  now  speak,  which  outruns  the  quickest  de- 
terminations of  reason,  and  takes  fire  in  an  instant, 
threatening  the  enemy  with  retaliation. 

The  first  of  these  principles  operatesupon  the  defend- 
er only  ;  but  this  operates  both  upon  the  defender  and 
the  assailant,  inspiring  the  former  with  courage  and  an- 
imosity, and  striking  terror  into  the  latter.  It  pro- 
claims to  all  assailants,  what  our  ancient  Scottish 
kings  did  upon  their  coins,  by  the  emblem  of  a  this^ 

VOL.   IV.  16 


118  BSSAY  III. 

tie,  with  this  motto,  »J\*etno  me  impune  lacesset.  By 
this,  in  innumerable  cases,  men  and  beasts  are  deterred 
from  doing  hurt,  and  others  thereby  secured  from  suf- 
fering it. 

But  as  resentment  supposes  an  object  on  Avhom  we 
may  retaliate,  how  comes  it  to  pass,  that  in  brutes  very 
often,  and  sometimes  in  our  own  species,  we  see  it 
wreaked  upon  inanimate  things,  which  are  incapable 
of  suffering  by  it  ? 

Perhaps  it  might  be  a  suflScient  answer  to  this  ques- 
tion, that  nature  acts  by  general  laws,  which,  in  some 
particular  cases,  may  go  beyond,  or  fall  short  of  their 
intention,  though  they  be  ever  so  well  adapted  to  it  in 
general. 

But  I  confess  it  seems  to  me  impossible,  that  there 
should  be  resentment  against  a  thing,  which  at  that 
very  moment  is  considered  as  inanimate,  and  conse- 
quently incapable  either  of  intending  hurt,  or  of  being 
punished.  For  what  can  be  more  absurd,  than  to  be 
angry  with  the  knife  for  cutting  me,  or  with  the  weight 
for  falling  upon  my  toes?  There  must  therefore,  I  con- 
ceive, be  some  momentary  notion  or  conception  that 
the  object  of  our  resentment  is  capable  of  punishment; 
and  if  it  be  natural,  before  reflection,  to  be  angry  with 
things  inanimate,  it  seems  to  be  a  necessary  conse- 
quence, that  it  is  natural  to  think  that  they  have  life 
and  feeling. 

Several  phenomena  in  human  nature  lead  us  to  con- 
jecture that,  in  the  earliest  period  of  life,  we  are  apt  to 
think  every  object  about  us  to  be  animated.  Judging 
of  them  by  ourselves,  we  ascribe  to  them  the  feelings 
we  are  conscious  of  in  ourselves.  So  we  see  a  little 
girl  judges  of  her  doll  and  of  her  playthings.  And  so 
we  see  rude  nations  judge  of  the  heavenly  bodies,  of  the 
elements,  and  of  the  sea,  rivers,  and  fountains. 

If  this  be  so,  it  ought  not  to  be  said,  that  by  reason 
and  experience,  we  leara  to  ascribe  life  and  intelligence 


OF  MALEVOXBNT  AFFECTION.        119 

to  things  which  we  before  considered  as  inanimate.  It 
ought  rather  to  be  said,  that  by  reason  and  experience 
we  learn  that  certain  things  are  inanimate,  to  which  at 
first  we  ascribed  life  and  intelligence. 

If  this  be  true,  it  is  less  surprising,  that,  before  re- 
fection, we  should  for  a  moment  relapse  into  this  prej- 
udice of  our  early  years,  and  treat  things  as  if  they  had 
life,  which  we  once  believed  to  have  it. 

It  does  not  much  affect  our  present  argument,  wheth- 
er this  be,  or  be  not  the  cause,  why  a  dog  pursues  and 
gnashes  at  the  stone  that  hurt  him ;  and  why  a  man  in 
a  passion,  for  losing  at  play,  sometimes  wreaks  his  ven- 
geance on  the  cards  or  dice. 

It  is  not  strange  that  a  blind  animal  impulse  should 
sometimes  lose  its  proper  direction.  In  brutes  this  has 
no  bad  consequence;  in  men  the  least  ray  of  reflection 
corrects  it,  and  shows  its  absurdity. 

It  is  sufficiently  evident,  upon  the  whole,  that  this 
sudden,  or  animal  resentment,  is  intended  by  nature  for 
our  defence.  It  prevents  mischief  by  the  fear  of  pun- 
ishment. It  is  a  kind  of  penal  statute,  promulgated  by 
nature,  the  execution  of  which  is  committed  to  the  suf- 
ferer. 

It  may  be  expected  indeed,  that  one  who  judges  in 
his  own  cause,  will  be  disposed  to  seek  more  than  an 
equitable  redress.  But  this  disposition  is  checked  by 
the  resentment  of  the  other  party. 

Yet,  in  the  state  of  nature,  injuries  once  begun,  will 
often  be  reciprocated  between  the  parties,  until  mortal 
enmity  is  produced,  and  each  party  thinks  himself  safe 
only  in  the  destruction  of  his  enemy. 

This  right  of  redressing  and  punishing  our  own 
wrongs,  so  apt  to  be  abused,  is  one  of  those  natural 
rights,  which,  in  political  society,  is  given  up  to  the 
laws,  and  to  the  civil  magistrate ;  and  this  indeed  is 
one  of  the  capital  advantages  we  reap  from  the  polit- 


120  ESS  AT  III. 

ical  union,  that  tlie  evils  arising  from  ungoverned  re- 
sentment are  in  a  great  degree  prevented. 

Although  deliberate  resentment  does  not  properly  be- 
long to  the  class  of  animal  principles  ;  yet,  as  both  have 
the  same  name,  and  are  distinguished  only  by  philoso- 
phers, and  as  in  real  life  they  are  commonly  intermixed, 
I  shall  here  make  some  remarks  upon  it. 

A  small  degree  of  reason  and  reflection  teaches  a 
man  that  injury  only,  and  not  mere  hurt,  is  a  just  ob- 
ject of  resentment  to  a  rational  creature.  A  man 
may  suffer  grievously  by  the  hand  of  another,  not  only 
Avithout  injury,  but  >vi(h  the  most  friendly  intention ;  as 
in  the  case  of  a  painful  chirurgical  operation.  Every 
man  of  common  sense  sees,  that  to  resent  such  suffer- 
ing, is  not  the  part  of  a  man,  but  of  a  brute. 

Mr.  Locke  mentions  a  gentleman  who,  having  been 
cured  of  madness  by  a  very  harsh  and  offensive  opera- 
tion, with  great  sense  of  gratitude,  owned  the  cure  as 
the  greatest  obligation  he  could  have  received,  but 
could  never  bear  the  sight  of  the  operator,  because  it 
brought  back  the  idea  of  that  agony  which  he  had  en- 
dured from  his  hands. 

In  this  case  we  see  distinctly  the  operation  both  of 
the  animal,  and  of  the  rational  principle.  The  first 
produced  an  aversion  to  the  operator,  which  reason  was 
not  able  to  overcome  ;  and  probably  in  a  weak  mind, 
might  have  produced  lasting  resentment  and  hatred. 
But,  in  this  gentleman,  reason  so  far  prevailed,  as  to 
make  him  sensible  that  gratitude,  and  not  resentment, 
was  due. 

Suffering  may  give  a  bias  to  the  judgment,  and  make 
us  apprehend  injury  where  no  injury  is  done.  But,  I 
think,  without  an  apprehension  of  injury,  there  can 
be  no  deliberate  resentment. 

Hence,  among  enlightened  nations,  hostile  armies 
fight  without  anger  or  resentment.    The  vanquished 


OF  MALEVOLENT  AFFECTION.        121 

are  not  treated  as  offenders,  but  as  brave  men  who 
have  fought  for  their  country  unsuccessfully,  and  who 
are  entitled  to  every  office  of  humanity  consistent  with 
the  safety  of  the  conquerors. 

If  we  analyze  that  deliberate  resentment  which  is 
proper  to  rational  creatures,  we  shall  find,  that  though 
it  agrees  with  that  which  is  merely  animal  in  some 
respects,  it  differs  in  others.  Both  are  accompanied 
with  an  uneasy  sensation,  which  disturbs  the  peace  of 
the  mind.  Both  prompt  us  to  seek  redress  of  our  suf- 
ferings, and  security  from  harm.  But,  in  deliberate 
resentment,  there  must  be  an  opinion  of  injury  done  or 
intended.  And  an  opinion  of  injury  implies  an  idea  of 
justice,  and  consequently  a  moral  faculty. 

The  very  notion  of  an  injury  is,  that  it  is  less  than 
we  may  justly  claim  ;  as,  on  the  contrary,  the  notion  of 
a  favour  is,  that  it  is  more  than  we  can  justly  claim. 
Whence  it  is  evident,  that  justice  is  the  standard,  by 
which  both  a  favour  and  an  injury  are  to  be  weighed 
and  estimated.  Their  very  nature  and  definition  consist 
in  their  exceeding  or  falling  short  of  this  standard.  No 
man,  therefore,  can  have  the  idea  either  of  a  favour  or 
of  an  injury,  who  has  not  the  idea  of  justice. 

That  very  idea  of  justice  which  enters  into  cool  and 
deliberate  resentment,  tends  to  restrain  its  excesses. 
For  as  there  is  injustice  in  doing  an  injury,  so  there  is 
injustice  in  punishing  it  beyond  measure. 

To  a  man  of  candour  and  reflection,  consciousness 
of  the  frailty  of  human  nature,  and  that  he  has  often 
stood  in  need  of  forgiveness  himself,  the  pleasure  of 
renewing  good  understanding,  after  it  has  been  inter- 
rupted, the  inward  approbation  of  a  generous  and  for- 
giving disposition,  and  even  the  irksomeness  and  un- 
easiness of  a  mind  ruffled  by  resentment,  plead  strong- 
ly against  its  excesses. 

Upon  the  whole,  when  we  consider,  that,  on  the 
one  hand,  every  benevolent  affection  is  pleasant  in  its 


122  ESSAY  III. 

nature,  is  health  to  the  soul,  and  a  cordial  to  the  spir- 
its ;  that  nature  has  made  even  the  outward  expression 
of  benevolent  aflfections  in  the  countenance,  pleasant  to 
everj  beholder,  and  the  chief  ingredient  of  beauty 
in  the  human  face  dhnne  ;  that,  on  the  other  hand, 
every  malevolent  affection,  not  only  in  its  faulty  ex- 
cesses, but  in  its  moderate  degrees,  is  vexation  and  dis- 
quiet  to  the  mind,  and  even  gives  deformity  to  the 
countenance ;  it  is  evident  that,  by  these  signals,  na- 
ture loudly  admonishes  us  to  use  the  former  as  our 
daily  bread,  both  for  health  and  pleasure,  but  to  con- 
sider the  latter  as  a  nauseous  medicine,  vi'hich  is  never 
to  be  taken  without  necessity ;  and  even  then  in  no 
greater  quantity  than  the  necessity  requires. 


OF  PASSION.  12S 

CHAPTER  VI. 

or   PASSION. 

Before  I  proceed  to  consider  the  rational  princi- 
ples of  action,  it  is  proper  to  observe,  that  there  are 
some  things  belonging  to  the  mind,  which  have  great 
influence  upon  human  conduct,  by  exciting  or  allaying, 
inflaming  or  cooling  the  animal  principles  we  have  men- 
tioned. 

Three  of  this  kind  deserve  particular  consideration. 
I  shall  call  them  by  the  names  of  passion,  dispositionf 
and  opinion. 

The  meaning  of  the  word  passion  is  not  precisely  as- 
certained, either  in  common  discourse,  or  in  the  writ- 
ings of  philosophers. 

I  think  it  is  commonly  put  to  signify  some  agita- 
tion of  mind,  which  is  opposed  to  that  state  of  tran- 
quillity and  composure,  in  which  a  man  is  most  mas* 
ter  of  himself. 

The  word  7ra6of,  which  answers  to  it  in  the  Greek 
language,  is,  by  Cicero,  rendered  by  the  word  pertur' 
batio. 

It  has  always  been  conceived  to  bear  analogy  to  a 
storm  at  sea,  or  to  a  tempest  in  the  air.  It  does  not 
therefore  signify  any  thing  in  the  mind  that  is  con- 
stant and  permanent,  but  something  that  is  occasion- 
al, and  has  a  limited  duration,  like  a  storm  or  tempest. 

Passion  commonly  produces  sensible  efiects  even 
upon  the  body.  It  changes  the  voice,  the  features, 
and  the  gesture.  The  external  signs  of  passion  have, 
in  some  cases,  a  great  resemblance  to  those  of  mad- 
ness ;  in  others,  to  those  of  melancholy.  It  gives  of- 
ten a  degree  of  muscular  force  and  agility  to  the  body, 
far  beyond  what  it  possesses  in  calm  moments. 


ISir  ESSAY   III. 

The  effects  of  passion  upon  the  mind  are  not  less 
remarkable.  It  turns  the  thoughts  involuntarily  to 
the  objects  related  to  it,  so  that  a  man  can  liardly 
think  of  any  thing  else.  It  gives  often  a  strange  bias 
to  the  judgment,  making  a  man  quicksighted  in  every 
thing  that  tends  to  inflame  his  passion,  and  to  justify 
it,  but  blind  to  every  thing  that  tends  to  moderate 
and  allay  it.  Like  a  magic  lantern,  it  raises  up  spec- 
tres and  apparitions  that  have  no  reality,  and  throws 
false  colours  upon  every  object.  It  can  turn  deformi- 
ty into  beauty,  vice  into  virtue,  and  virtue  info  vice. 

The  sentiments  of  a  man  under  its  influence  will  ap- 
pear absurd  and  ridiculous,  not  only  to  other  men,  but 
even  to  himself,  when  the  storm  is  spent  and  is  suc- 
ceeded by  a  calm.  Passion  often  gives  a  violent  im- 
pulse to  the  will,  and  makes  a  man  do  what  be  knows 
Le  shall  repent  as  long  as  he  lives. 

That  such  are  the  effects  of  passion,  I  think,  all  men 
agree.  They  have  been  described  in  lively  colours  by 
poets,  orators,  and  moralists,  in  all  ages.  But  men 
have  given  more  attention  to  the  effects  of  passion  than 
to  its  nature;  and  while  they  have  copiously  and  ele- 
gantly described  the  former,  they  have  not  precisely 
defined  the  latter. 

The  controversy  between  the  ancient  Peripatetics 
and  the  Stoics,  with  regard  to  the  passions,  was  prob- 
ably owing  to  their  affixing  different  meanings  to  the 
"word.  The  one  sect  maintained,  that  the  passions  are 
good,  and  useful  parts  of  our  constitution,  while  they 
are  held  under  the  government  of  reason.  The  other 
sect,  conceiving  that  nothing  is  to  be  called  passion 
which  does  not,  in  some  degree,  cloud  and  darken  the 
understanding,  considered  all  passion  as  hostile  to  rea- 
son, and  therefore  maintained,  that,  in  the  wise  man, 
passion  should  have  no  existence,  but  be  utterly  exter- 
minated. 


OF   PASSION.  125 

If  both  sects  had  agreed  about  the  definition  of  pas- 
sion, thej  wouhl  probably  have  had  no  difference.  But 
while  one  considered  passion  only  as  the  cause  of  those 
bad  effects  which  it  often  produces,  and  the  other  con- 
sidered it  as  fitted  by  nature  to  produce  good  effects, 
while  it  i»  under  subjection  to  reason,  it  does  not  ap- 
pear that  what  one  sect  justified,  was  the  same  thing 
which  the  other  condemned.  Both  allowed  that  no 
dictate  of  passion  ought  to  be  followed  in  opposition  to 
reason.  Their  difference  therefore  was  verbal  more 
than  real,  and  was  owing  to  their  giving  different  mean- 
ings to  the  same  word. 

The  precise  meaning  of  this  word  seems  not  to  be 
more  clearly  ascerJained  among  modern  philosophers. 
Mr.  Hume  gives  the  name  of  passion  to  every  prin- 
ciple of  action  in  the  human  mind;  and,  in  conse- 
quence of  this,  maintains,  that  every  man  is,  and  ought 
to  be  led  by  his  passions,  and  that  the  use  of  reason  is 
to  be  subservient  to  the  passions. 

Dr.  Huteheson,  considering  all  the  principles  of  ac- 
tion as  so  many  determinations,  or  motions  of  the  will, 
divides  them  into  the  calm  and  the  turbulent.  The 
turbulent,  he  says,  are  our  appetites  and  our  passions. 
Of  the  passions,  as  well  as  of  the  calm  determinations, 
he  says,  that  "  some  are  benevolent,  others  are  selfish  ; 
that  anger,  envy,  indignation,  and  some  others,  may 
be  either  selfish  or  benevolent,  according  as  they  arise 
from  some  opposition  to  our  own  interests,  or  to  those 
of  our  friends,  or  persons  beloved  or  esteemed.'* 

It  appears,  therefore,  that  this  excellent  author  gives 
the  name  of  passions^  not  to  every  principle  of  action, 
but  to  some,  and  to  those  only  when  they  are  turbu- 
lent and  vehement,  not  when  they  are  calm  and  delib- 
erate. 

OuF  natural  desires  and  affections  may  be  so  calm  as 
to  leave  room  for  reflection,  so  that  we  find  no  difficulty 
vox.  IV.  17 


1-6  ESSAY  III. 

in  deliberating  eooly,  whether,  in  such  a  particular 
instance,  they  ought  to  be  gratified  or  not.  On  other 
occasions,  they  may  be  so  importunate  as  to  make  de- 
liberation very  difficult,  urging  us,  by  a  kind  of  vio- 
lence, to  their  immediate  gratification. 

Thus,  a  man  maybe  sensible  of  an  injury  without  be- 
ing inflamed.  He  judges  eooly  of  the  injury,  and  of 
the  proper  means  of  redress.  This  is  resentment  with- 
out passion.  It  leaves  to  the  man  the  entire  command 
of  himself. 

On  another  occasion,  the  same  principle  of  resent- 
ment rises  into  a  flame.  His  blood  boils  within  him ; 
his  looks,  his  voice,  and  his  gesture  are  changed  ;  he 
can  think  of  nothing  but  immediate  revenge,  and  feels 
a  strong  impulse,  without  regard  to  consequences,  to 
say  and  do  things  which  his  cool  reason  cannot  justify. 
This  is  the  passion  of  resentment. 

What  has  been  said  of  resentment  may  easily  be  ap- 
plied to  other  natural  desires  and  affections.  When 
they  are  so  calm  as  neither  to  produce  any  sensible  ef- 
fects upon  the  body,  nor  to  darken  the  understanding 
and  weaken  the  power  of  self-command,  they  are  not 
called  passions.  But  the  same  principle,  when  it  be- 
comes so  violent  as  to  produce  these  effects  upon  the 
body  and  upon  the  mind,  is  a  passion,  or,  as  Cicero 
very  properly  calls  it,  a  perturbation. 

It  is  evident,  that  this  meaning  of  the  word  passion 
accords  much  better  with  its  common  use  in  language, 
than  that  which  Mr.  Hume  gives  it. 

When  he  says,  that  men  ought  to  be  governed  by 
their  passions  only,  and  that  the  use  of  reason  is  to  be 
subservient  to  the  passions,  this,  at  first  hearing,  ap- 
pears a  shocking  paradox,  repugnant  to  good  morals 
and  to  common  sense  ;  but,  like  most  other  paradoxes, 
when  explained  according  to  his  meaning)  it  is  nothing 
but  an  abuse  of  words. 


0-E  PASSION.  127 

Fop  if  we  give  the  name  of  passion  to  every  princi- 
ple of  action,  in  every  degree,  and  give  tlie  name  of 
reason  solely  to  the  power  of  discerning  the  fitness  of 
means  to  ends,  it  will  be  true,  that  the  use  of  reason  is 
te  be  subservient  to  the  passions. 

As  I  wish  to  use  words  as  agreeably  as  possible  to 
their  common  use  in  language,  I  shall,  by  the  word 
'passion  mean,  not  any  principle  of  action  distinct  from 
those  desires  and  affections  before  explained,  but  such 
a  degree  of  vehemence  in  them,  or  in  any  of  them,  as 
is  apt  to  produce  those  effects  upon  the  body  or  upon 
the  mind  which  have  been  above  described. 

Our  appetites,  even  when  vehement,  are  not,  I  think, 
very  commonly  called  passions,  yet  they  are  capable 
of  being  enflamed  to  rage,  and  in  that  case  their  effects 
are  very  similar  to  those  of  the  passions ;  and  what  is 
said  of  one  may  be  applied  to  both. 

Having  explained  what  I  mean  by  passions,  I  think 
it  unnecessary  to  enter  into  any  enumeration  of  them, 
since  they  differ,  not  in  kind,  but  rather  in  degree, 
from  the  principles  already  enumerated. 

The  common  division  of  the  passions  into  desire  and 
aversion,  hope  and  fear,  joy  and  grief,  has  been  men- 
tioned almost  by  every  author  who  has  treated  of  them, 
and  needs  no  explication.  But  we  may  observe,  that 
these  are  ingredients  or  modifications,  not  of  the  pas- 
sions only,  but  of  every  principle  of  action,  animal  and 
rational. 

All  of  them  imply  the  desire  of  some  object ;  and 
the  desire  of  an  object  cannot  be  without  aversion  to 
its  contrary ;  and,  according  as  the  object  is  present 
or  absent,  desire  and  aversion,  will  be  variously  modi- 
fied into  joy  or  grief,  hope  or  fear.  It  is  evident,  that 
desire  and  aversion,  joy  and  grief,  hope  and  fear,  may 
be  either  calm  and  sedate,  or  vehement,  and  passion- 
ate. 


tS9  ESSAY  III. 

Passing  <hese,  therefore,  as  common  to  all  princi- 
ples of  action,  whether  calm  or  vehement,  I  shall  only 
make  some  observations  on  passion  in  general,  which 
tend  to  show  its  influence  on  human  conduct. 

First,  It  is  passion  that  makes  us  liable  to  strong 
temptations.  Indeed,  if  we  had  no  passions,  we  should 
hardily  be  under  any  temptation  to  wrong  conduct. 
For,  when  we  view  things  calmly,  and  free  from  any 
of  the  false  colours  which  passion  throws  upon  them, 
owe  can  hardly  fail  to  see  the  right  and  the  wrong,  and 
to  sec  that  the  first  is  more  eligible  than  the  last. 

1  believe  a  cool  and  deliberate  preference  of  ill  to 
good  is  never  the  first  step  into  vice. 

*♦  When  the  woman  saw  that  the  tree  was  good  for 
food,  and  that  it  was  pleasant  to  the  eyes,  and  a  tree 
to  be  desired  to  make  one  wise,  she  took  of  the  fruit 
thereof  and  did  eat,  and  gave  also  to  her  husband  with 
her  and  he  did  cat;  and  the  eyes  of  them  both  were 
opened."  Inflamed  desire  had  blinded  the  eyes  of  their 
understanding. 

Fix'd  on  tlie  fiuit  she  gazed,  which  to  behold 

Might  tempt  alone  ;  and  in  her  ears  the  sound 

Yet  rung  of  his  persuasive  words  irapregn'd 

"With  reason  to  her  seeming,  and  with  truth. 

— —  Fair  to  the  eye,  inviting  to  the  taste. 

Of  virtue  to  make  wise,  what  hinders  then 

To  reach  and  feed  at  once  both  body  and  mind.  Milt. 

Thus  our  first  parents  were  tempted  to  disobey  their 
Maker,  and  all  their  posterity  are  liable  to  temptation 
from  the  same  cause.  Passion,  or  violent  appetite, 
first  blinds  the  understanding,  and  then  perverts  the  will. 

It  is  passion,  therefore,  and  the  vehement  motions  of 
appetite,  that  make  us  liable,  in  our  present  state,  to 
strong  temptations  to  deviate  from  our  duty.  This  is 
the  lot  of  human  nature  in  the  preseut  period  of  our  ex- 
istence. 


or  PASSION.  129 

Human  virtue  must  gather  strength  by  struggle  and 
effort.  As  infants,  before  they  can  walk  without  stum- 
bling, must  be  exposed  to  many  a  fail  and  bruise ;  as 
wrestlers  acquire  their  strength  and  agility,  by  many  a 
combat  and  violent  exertion ;  so  it  is  in  the  noblest 
powers  of  human  nature,  as  well  as  the  meanest,  and 
even  in  virtue  itself. 

It  is  not  only  made  manifest  by  temptation  and  trial, 
but  by  these  means  it  acquires  its  strength  and  vigour* 

Men  must  acquire  patience  by  suffering,  and  forti- 
tude by  being  exposed  to  danger,  and  every  other  vir- 
tue by  situations  that  put  it  to  trial  and  exercise. 

This,  for  any  thing  we  know,  may  be  necessary  in 
the  nature  of  things.  It  is  certainly  a  law  of  nature 
with  regard  to  man. 

"Whether  there  may  be  orders  of  intelligent  and  mor- 
al creatures  who  never  were  subject  to  any  temptation^ 
nor  bad  their  virtue  put  to  any  trial,  we  cannot  without 
presumption  determine.  But  it  is  evident,  that  this 
neither  is,  nor  ever  was  the  lot  of  man^  not  even  in  the 
state  of  innocence. 

Sad,  indeed,  would  be  the  condition  of  man,  if  the 
temptations  to  which,  by  the  constitution  of  his  nature, 
and  by  his  circumstances,  he  is  liable,  were  irresistible. 
Such  a  state  would  not  at  all  be  a  state  of  trial  and  dis- 
cipline. 

Our  condition  here  is  such,  that,  on  the  one  hand, 
passion  often  tempts  and  solicits  us  to  do  wrong ;  on 
the  other  hand,  reason  and  conscience  oppose  the  dic- 
tates of  passion.  The  flesh  lusteth  against  the  spirit, 
and  the  spirit  against  the  flesh.  And  upon  the  issue  of 
this  conflict,  the  character  of  the  man  and  his  fate  de- 
pend. 

If  reason  be  victorious,  his  virtue  is  strengthened ; 
he  has  the  inward  satisfaction  of  having  fought  a  good 
fight  in  behalf  of  his  duty,  and  the  peace  of  his  mind  is 
preserved. 


130  ESSAY   III. 

If,  on  the  otiiei'  hand,  passion  prevails  against  the 
sense  of  duty,  the  man  is  conscious  of  having  done  what 
he  ought  not,  and  might  not  have  done.  His  own 
heart  condemns  him,  and  he  is  guilty  to  himself. 

This  conflict  between  the  passions  of  our  animal  na- 
ture and  the  calm  dictates  of  reason  and  conscience,  is 
not  a  theory  invented  to  solve  the  phenomena  of  human 
conduct,  it  is  a  fact,  of  which  every  man  who  attends 
to  his  own  conduct  is  conscious. 

In  the  most  ancient  philosophy,  of  which  we  have 
any  account,  I  mean  that  of  the  Pythagoreaii  school, 
the  mind  of  man  was  compared  to  a  state  or  common- 
wealth, in  which  there  are  various  powers,  some  that 
ought  to  govern,  and  others  that  ought  to  be  subordi- 
nate. 

The  good  of  the  whole,  which  is  the  supreme  law  in 
this,  as  in  every  commonwealth,  requires  that  this  sub- 
ordination be  preserved,  and  that  the  governing  powers 
liave  always  the  ascendant  over  the  appetites  and  the  pas- 
sions. All  wise  and  good  conduct  consists  in  this.  All 
folly  and  vice  in  the  prevalence  of  passion  over  the  dic- 
tates of  reason. 

This  philosophy  was  adopted  by  Plato  j  and  it  is  so 
agreeable  to  what  every  man  feels  in  himself,  that  it 
must  always  prevail  with  men  who  think  without  bias 
to  a  system. 

The  governing  powers,  of  which  these  ancient  phi- 
losophers speak,  are  the  same  which  I  call  the  rational 
principles  of  action,  and  which  I  shall  have  occasion  to 
explain.  I  only  mention  them  here,  because,  without 
a  regard  to  them,  the  influence  of  the  passions,  and 
their  rank  in  our  constitution,  cannot  be  distinctly  un- 
derstood. 

A  second  observation  is,  that  the  impulse  of  passion 
is  not  always  to  what  is  bad,  but  very  often  to  what  is 
good,  and  what  our  reason  approves.    There  are  some 


OP  rAS&WN.  131 

passions,  as  Dr.  Hutcheson  observes,  that  are  benevo- 
lent, as  well  as  others  that  are  selfish. 

The  affections  of  resentment  and  emulation,  with  those 
that  spring  from  them,  from  their  very  nature,  disturb 
and  disquiet  the  mind,  though  they  be  not  carried  beyond 
the  bounds  which  reason  prescribes;  and  therefore 
they  are  commonly  called  passions,  even  in  their  mod- 
erate degrees.  From  a  similar  cause,  the  benevolent 
affections,  which  are  placid  in  their  nature,  and  are  rare- 
ly carried  beyond  the  bounds  of  reason,  [Note  R.]  are 
very  seldom  called  passions,  "We  do  not  give  the  name  of 
passion  to  benevolence,  gratitude,  or  friendship.  Yet 
we  must  except  from  this  general  rule,  love  between 
the  sexes,  which,  as  it  commonly  discomposes  the  mind, 
and  is  not  easily  kept  within  reasonable  bounds,  is  al- 
ways called  a  passion. 

All  our  natural  desires  and  affections  are  good  and 
necessary  parts  of  our  constitution ;  and  passion,  being 
only  a  certain  degree  of  vehemence  in  these,  its  natur- 
al tendency  is  to  good,  and  it  is  by  accident  that  it  leads 
us  wrong. 

Passion  is  very  properly  said  to  be  blind.  It  looks 
not  beyond  the  present  gratification.  It  belongs  to 
reason  to  attend  to  the  accidental  circumstances  which 
may  sometimes  make  that  gratification  improper  or 
hurtful.  When  there  is  no  impropriety  in  it,  much 
more  when  it  is  our  duty,  passion  aids  reason,  and  gives 
additional  force  to  its  dictates. 

Sympathy  with  the  distressed  may  bring  them  a  char- 
itable relief,  when  a  calm  sense  of  duty  would  be  too 
weak  to  produce  the  effect. 

Objects,  either  good  or  ill,  conceived  to  be  very  dis- 
tant, when  they  are  considered  cooly,  have  not  thatin- 
jBuence  upon  men  which  in  reason  they  ought  to  have. 
Imagination,  like  the  eye,  diminishes  its  objects  in  pro- 
portion to  their  distance.    The  passions  of  hope  and 


1&2  ESSAY    III. 

fear  must  be  raised,  in  order  to  give  such  objects  their 
due  Diagnitude  in  the  imagination,  and  their  due  influ- 
ence upon  our  conduct. 

The  dread  of  disgrace  and  of  the  civil  inagis(rate» 
and  the  apprehension  of  future  punishment,  prevent 
many  crimes,  \vhich  bad  men,  without  these  restraints, 
would  commit,  and  contribute  greatly  to  the  peace  and 
good  order  of  society. 

There  is  no  bad  action  which  some  passion  may  not 
prevent ;  nor  is  there  any  external  good  action,  of 
which  some  passion  may  not  be  the  main  spring ;  and, 
it  is  very  probable,  that  even  the  passions  of  men,  upon 
the  whole,  do  more  good  to  society  than  hurt. 

The  ill  that  is  done  draws  our  attention  more,  and  is 
imputed  solely  to  human  passions.  The  good  may 
have  better  motives,  and  charity  leads  us  to  think  that 
it  has  ;  but,  as  we  see  not  the  heart,  it  is  impossible  to 
determine  what  share  men's  passions  may  have  in  its 
production. 

The  last  observation  is,  that  if  we  distinguish,  in  the 
effects  of  our  passions,  those  which  are  altogether  in- 
voluntary, and  without  the  sphere  of  our  power,  from 
the  effects  which  may  be  prevented  by  an  exertion,  per- 
haps a  great  exertion,  of  self-government ;  we  shall 
iind  the  first  to  be  good  and  highly  useful,  and  the  last 
only  to  be  bad. 

Not  lo  speak  of  the  effects  of  moderate  passions  upon 
the  health  of  the  body,  to  which  some  agitation  of  this 
kind  seems  to  be  no  le^s  useful  than  storms  and  tem- 
pests to  the  salubrity  of  the  air;  every  passion  natur- 
ally draws  our  attention  to  its  object,  and  interests  us 
in  it. 

The  mind  of  man  is  naturally  desultory,  and  when  it 
bas  no  interesting  object  in  view,  roves  from  one  to 
another,  without  fixing  its  attention  upon  any  one.  A 
trausieot  and  careless  glance  is  all  that  we  bestow  upon 


OF  PASSION.  133 

objects  in  which  \te  take  no  concern.  It  requires  a 
strong  degree  of  curiosity,  or  some  more  important  pas- 
sion, to  give  us  that  interest  in  an  object  which  is 
necessary  to  our  giving  attention  to  it.  And,  without 
attention,  we  can  form  no  true  and  stable  judgment  of 
any  object. 

Take  away  the  passions,  and  it  is  not  easy  to  say  how 
great  a  part  of  mankind  would  resemble  those  frivolous 
mortals,  who  never  had  a  thought  that  engaged  them  in 
good  earnest. 

It  is  not  mere  judgment  or  intellectual  ability  that 
enables  a  man  to  excel  in  any  art  or  science.  He  must 
have  a  love  and  aduiiration  of  it  bordering  upon  enthu- 
siasm, or  a  passionate  desire  of  the  fame,  or  of  some 
other  advantage  to  be  got  by  that  excellence.  With- 
out this,  he  would  not  undergo  the  labour  and  fa- 
tigue of  his  faculties,  which  it  requires.  So  that,  I 
think,  we  may  with  justice  allow  no  small  merit  to  the 
passions,  even  in  the  discoveries  and  improvements  of 
the  arts  and  sciences. 

If  the  passions  for  fame  and  distinction  were  extin- 
guished, it  would  be  difficult  to  find  men  ready  to  under- 
take the  cares  and  toils  of  government ;  and  few  per- 
haps would  make  the  exertions  necessary  to  raise  them- 
selves above  the  ignoble  vulgar. 

The  involuntary  signs  of  the  passions  and  disposi- 
tions of  the  mind,  in  the  voice,  features,  and  action, 
are  a  part  of  the  human  constitution  which  deserves 
admiration.  The  signification  of  those  signs  is  known 
to  all  men  by  nature,  and  previous  to  all  experience. 

They  are  so  many  openings  into  the  souls  of  our  fel- 
low men,  by  which  their  sentiments  become  visible  to 
the  eye.  They  are  a  natural  language  common  to 
mankind,  without  which  it  would  have  been  impossible 
to  have  invented  any  artificial  language. 

It  is  from  the  natural  signs  of  the  passions  and  dis- 
positions of  the  mind,  that  the  human  form  derives  its 

vol,  IV.  18 


13*  ESSAY  III. 

beauty ;  that  painting,  poetry,  and  music,  derive  their 
expression ;  that  eloquence  derives  its  greatest  force> 
and  conversation  its  greatest  charm. 

The  passions,  when  kept  within  their  proper  bounds, 
give  life  and  vigour  to  the  whole  man.  Without  them 
man  would  be  a  slug.  We  see  what  polish  and  anima- 
tion the  passion  of  love,  when  honourable  and  not  un- 
successful, gives  to  both  sexes. 

The  passion  for  military  glory  raises  the  brave  com- 
mander in  the  day  of  battle,  far  above  himself,  making 
his  countenance  to  shine,' and  his  eyes  to  sparkle.  The 
glory  of  old  England  warms  the  heart  even  of  the 
British  tar,  and  makes  him  despise  every  danger. 

As  to  the  bad  effects  of  passion,  it  must  be  acknowl- 
edged that  it  often  gives  a  strong  impulse  to  what  is 
bad,  and  what  a  man  condemns  himself  for  as  soon  as 
it  is  done.  But  he  must  be  conscious  that  the  impulse, 
though  strong,  was  not  irresistible,  otherwise  he  could 
not  condemn  himself.     [Note  S.] 

We  allow  that  a  sudden  and  violent  passion,  into 
which  a  man  is  surprised,  alleviates  a  bad  action  ;  but 
if  it  was  irresistible,  it  would  not  only  alleviate,  but  to- 
tally exculpate,  which  it  never  does,  either  in  the  judg- 
ment of  the  man  himself,  or  of  others. 

To  sum  up  all,  passion  furnishes  a  very  strong  in- 
stance of  the  truth  of  the  common  maxim^  that  the  cor- 
Tuption  of  the  best  things  is  worst. 


OF  DISPOSITION.  135 


CHAP.  VII. 


OF   DISPOSITION". 


By  disposition^  I  mean  a  state  of  miad  which,  while 
it  lasts,  gives  a  tendency,  or  proneness,  to  be  moved  by 
certain  animal  principles,  rather  than  by  others ;  while, 
at  another  time,  another  state  of  mind,  in  the  same 
person,  may  give  the  ascendant  to  other  animal  princi- 
ples. 

It  was  before  observed,  that  it  is  a  property  of  our 
appetites  to  be  periodical,  ceasing  for  a  time,  when 
sated  by  their  objects,  and  returning  regularly  after 
certain  periods. 

Even  those  principles  which  are  not  periodical,  have 
their  ebbs  and  flows  occasionally,  according  to  the  pres- 
ent disposition  of  the  mind. 

Among  some  of  the  principles  of  action,  there  is  a 
natural  alHnity,  so  that  one  of  the  tribe  naturally  dis- 
poses to  those  which  are  allied  to  it. 

Such  an  affinity  has  been  observed  by  many  good  au- 
thors to  be  among  all  the  benevolent  tiifections.  The 
exercise  of  one  benevolent  affection  gives  a  proneness 
to  the  exercise  of  others. 

There  is  a  certain  placid  and  agreeable  tone  of  mind 
which  is  common  to  them  all,  which  seems  to  be  the 
bond  of  that  connection  and  affinily  they  have  with  one 
another. 

The  malevolent  affections  have  also  an  affinity,  and 
mutually  dispose  to  each  other,  by  means,  perhaps,  of 
that  disagreeable  feeling  common  to  them  all,  which 
makes  the  mind  sore  and  uneasy. 

As  far  as  we  can  trace  the  causes  of  the  different 
dispositions  of  the  mind,  they  seem  to  be  in  some  cases 
owing  to  those  associating  powers  of  the  principles  of 
action,  which  have  a  natural  affinity,  and  are  prone  to 


1S6  ESSAY   III. 

'  keep  company  with  one  another  ;  sometimes  to  acci- 
dents of  good  or  bad  fortune,  and  sometimes,  no  doubt, 
the  state  of  the  body  may  have  influence  upon  the  dis< 
position  of  the  mind. 

At  one  time,  the  state  of  the  mind,  like  a  serene  un- 
clouded sky,  shows  every  thing  in  the  most  agreeable 
light.  Then  a  man  is  prone  to  benevolence,  compas- 
sion, and  every  kind  affection ;  unsuspicious,  not  easily 
provoked. 

The  poets  have  observed  that  men  have  their  mollia 
tempora  fundi,  when  they  are  averse  from  saving  or 
doing  a  harsh  thing;  and  artful  men  watch  these  occa- 
sions, and  know  how  to  improve  them  to  promote  their 
ends. 

This  disposition,  I  think,  we  commonly  call  good 
Immourf  of  which,  in  the  fair  sex,  Mr.  Pope  says. 

Good  humour  only  teaches  charms  to  last, 

Still  makes  new  conquests,  and  maintains  the  past. 

There  is  no  disposition  more  comfortable  to  the  per- 
son himself,  or  more  agreeable  toothers,  than  good  hu- 
mour. It  is  to  the  mind,  what  good  health  is  to  the 
body,  putting  a  man  in  the  capacity  of  enjoying  every 
thing  that  is  agreeable  in  life,  and  of  using  every  fac- 
ulty without  clog  or  impediment.  It  disposes  to  con- 
tentment with  our  lot,  to  benevolence  to  all  men,  to 
sympathy  with  the  distressed.  It  presents  every  ob- 
ject in  the  most  favourable  light,  and  disposes  us  to 
avoid  giving  or  taking  offence. 

This  happy  disposition  seems  to  be  the  natural  fruit 
of  a  good  conscience,  and  a  firm  belief  that  the  world  is 
under  a  wise  and  benevolent  administration  ;  and,  when 
it  springs  from  this  root,  it  i^  an  habitual  sentiment  of 
piety. 

Good  humour  is  likewise  apt  to  be  produced  by  hap- 
py success^  or  unexpected  good  fortune,  joy  and  hope> 


OF   DISPOSITION.  137 

are  favourable  to  it  5  vexation  and  disappointment  are 
unfavourable. 

The  onl;^'  danger  of  tbis  disposition  seems  to  be, 
that  if  we  are  not  upon  our  guard,  it  may  degenerate 
into  levity,  and  indispose  us  to  a  proper  degree  of  cau- 
tion, and  of  attention  to  the  future  consequences  of  our 
actions. 

There  is  a  disposition  opposite  to  good  humour  which 
we  call  bad  humour,  of  which  the  tendency  is  directly 
contrary,  and  therefore  its  influence  is  as  malignant,  as 
that  of  the  other  is  salutary. 

Bad  humour  alone  is  sufficient  to  make  a  man  un- 
happy ;  it  tinges  every  object  with  its  own  dismal  col- 
our ;  and,  like  a  part  that  is  galled,  is  hurt  by  every 
thing  that  touches  it.  It  takes  offence  where  none  was 
meant,  and  disposes  to  discontent,  jealousy,  envy,  and, 
in  general,  to  malevolence. 

Another  couple  of  opposite  dispositions  are  e7a(ion 
of  mind,  on  the  one  hand,  and  depression,  on  the  other. 

These  contrary  dispositions  are  both  of  an  ambigu- 
ous nature  ;  their  influence  may  be  good  or  bad,  ac- 
cording as  they  are  grounded  on  true  or  false  opinion, 
and  according  as  they  are  regulated. 

That  elation  of  mind  which  arises  from  a  just  sense 
of  the  dignity  of  our  nature,  and  of  the  powers  and  fac- 
ulties with  which  God  has  endowed  us,  is  true  mag- 
nanimity, and  disposes  a  man  to  the  noblest  virtues, 
and  the  most  heroic  actions  and  enterprises. 

There  is  also  an  elation  of  mind,  which  arises  from 
a  consciousness  of  our  worth  and  integrity,  such  as  Job 
felt,  when  he  said,  *•  Till  I  die,  I  will  not  remove  my 
integrity  from  me.  My  righteousness  I  hold  fast, 
and  will  not  let  it  go ;  my  heart  shall  not  reproach 
me  while  I  live."  This  may  be  called  the  pride  of 
virtue ;  but  it  is  a  noble  pride.  It  makes  a  man  dis- 
dain to  do  what  is  base  or  mean.  This  is  the  true 
sense  of  honor. 


i|9  ESSAY   III. 

But  there  is  au  elation  of  mind  arising  i'rom  a  vaiu 
opinion  of  our  having  talents,  or  worth,  which  we  iiave 
not ;  or  from  putting  an  undue  value  upon  any  of  our 
endowments  of  mind,  hody,  or  fortuue.  This  is  pride> 
the  parent  of  many  odious  vices  ;  such  as  arrogance, 
undue  contempt  of  others,  self-partiality,  and  vicious 
self-love. 

The  opposite  disposition  to  elation  of  mind,  is  dc- 
pression,  which  also  has  good  or  had  effects,  according 
as  it  is  grounded  upon  true  or  false  opinion. 

A  just  sense  of  the  weakness  and  imperfections  of 
human  nature,  and  of  our  own  personal  faults  and  de- 
fects, is  true  humility.  It  is  not  to  think  of  ourselves 
above  what  tve  ought  to  think;  a  most  salutary  and 
amiable  disposition  ;  of  great  price  in  the  sight  of  God 
and  man.  Nor  is  it  inconsistent  with  real  magnanimi- 
ty and  greatness  of  soul.  They  may  dwell  together 
with  great  advantage  and  ornament  to  both,  and  be 
faithful  monitors  against  the  extremes  to  which  each 
has  the  greatest  tendency. 

But  there  is  a  depression  of  mind  which  is  the  op- 
posite to  magnanimity,  which  debilitates  the  springs 
of  action,  and  freezes  every  sentiment  that  should  lead 
to  any  noble  exertion  or  enterprise. 

Suppose  a  man  to  have  no  belief  of  a  good  adminis- 
tration of  the  world,  no  conception  of  the  dignity  of 
virtue,  no  hope  of  happiness  in  another  state.  Sup- 
pose him,  at  the  same  time,  in  a  state  of  extreme  pov- 
erty and  dependence,  and  that  he  has  no  higher  aim 
than  to  supply  his  bodily  wants,  or  to  minister  to  the 
pleasure,  or  flatter  the  pride,  of  some  being  as  worth- 
less as  himself.  Is  not  the  soul  of  such  a  man  depress- 
ed as  much  as  his  body  or  his  fortune  ?  And,  if  fortune 
should  smile  upon  him  while  he  retains  the  same  sen- 
timents, he  is  only  the  slave  of  fortune.  His  mind  is 
depressed  to  the  state  of  a  brute;  and  his  human  fac- 
ulties serve  only  to  make  him  feel  that  depression. 


f 

OF  DISPOSITION^.  139 

Depression  of  mind  may  be  owing  to  melancholy,  a 
distemper  of  mind  Avhich  proceeds  from  the  state  of 
the  body,  which  throws  a  dismal  gloom  upon  every  ob- 
ject of  thought,  cuts  all  the  sinews  of  action,  and  often 
gives  rise  to  strange  and  absurd  opinions  in  religion^ 
or  in  other  interesting  matters.  Yet,  where  there  is 
real  worth  at  bottom,  some  rays  of  it  will  break  forth 
even  in  this  depressed  state  of  mind. 

A  remarkable  instance  of  this  was  exhibited  in  Mr. 
Simon  Brown,  a  dissenting  clergyman  in  England,  who, 
by  melancholy,  was  led  into  the  belief  that  his  rational 
soul  had  gradually  decayed  Avithin  him,  and  at  last 
was  totally  extinct.  From  this  belief  he  gave  up  his 
ministerial  function,  and  would  not  even  join  with 
others  in  any  act  of  worship,  conceiving  it  to  be  a  prof- 
anation to  worship  God  without  a  soul. 

In  this  dismal  state  of  mind,  he  wrote  an  excellent 
defence  of  the  Christian  religion,  against  TindaPs 
Christianity  as  Old  as  the  Creation.  To  the  book,  he 
prefixed  an  epistle  dedicatory  to  Queen  Caroline^ 
wherein  he  mentions,  "  That  he  was  once  a  man,  but, 
by  the  immediate  hand  of  God  for  his  sins,  his  very 
thinking  substance  has,  for  more  than  seven  years, 
been  continually  wasting  away,  till  it  is  wholly  perish- 
ed out  of  him,  if  it  be  not  utterly  come  to  nothing." 
And,  having  heard  of  her  Majesty's  eminent  piety,  he 
begs  the  aid  of  her  prayers. 

The  book  Avas  published  after  his  death  without  the 
dedication,  which,  however,  having  been  preserved  in 
manuscript,  was  afterward  printed  in  the  Adventurer, 
No.  88. 

Thus  this  good  man,  when  he  believed  that  he  had 
no  soul,  showed  a  most  generous  and  disinterested  con- 
cern for  those  who  had  souls. 

As  depression  of  mind  may  produce  strange  opinions, 
especially  in  the  case  of  melancholy^  so  our  opinions 


140  ESSAY  III. 

may  have  a  very  considerable  influence,  either  to  ele- 
vate or  to  depress  the  mind^  even  where  there  is  no 
melancholy. 

Suppose,  on  one  hand,  a  man  who  believes  that  he 
is  destined  to  an  eternal  existence;  that  he  who  made, 
and  who  governs  the  world,  luaketL  account  of  hiniy 
and  has  furnished  him  with  the  means  of  attaining  a 
high  degree  of  perfection  and  glory.  Wi(h  this  man 
compare,  on  the  other  hand,  the  man  who  believes 
nothing  at  all,  or  who  believes  that  his  existence  is  on- 
ly the  play  of  atoms,  and  that,  after  he  has  been  toss- 
ed about  by  blind  fortune  foi*  a  few  years,  he  shall  agaiq 
return  to  nothing.  Can  it  be  doubted,  that  the  former 
opinion  leads  to  elevation  and  greatness  of  mind,  the 
latter  to  meanness  and  depression  2 


OF  OPINION,  141 


CHAPTER  VIII. 


OF   OPINION. 


When  we  come  to  explain  the  rational  principles  of 
action^  it  Avill  appear,  that  opinion  is  an  essential  in- 
gredient in  them.  Here  we  are  only  to  consider  its  in- 
fluence upon  the  animal  principles.  Some  of  those  I 
have  ranked  in  that  class  cannot,  I  think,  exist  in  the 
human  mind  without  it. 

Gratitude  supposes  the  opinion  of  a  favour  done  or 
intended;  resentment  the  opinion  of  an  injury  ;  esteem 
the  opinion  of  merit ;  the  passion  of  love  supposes  the 
opinion  of  uncommon  merit  and  perfection  in  its  object. 

Although  natural  affection  to  parents,  children,  and 
near  relations,  is  not  grounded  on  the  opinion  of  their 
merit,  it  is  much  increased  by  that  consideration.  So 
is  every  benevolent  affection.  On  the  contrary,  real 
malevolence  can  hardly  exist  without  the  opinion  of 
demerit  in  the  object. 

There  is  no  natural  desire  or  aversion,  which  may 
not  be  restrained  by  opinion.  Thus,  if  a  man  were 
athirst,  and  had  a  strong  desire  to  drink,  the  opinion 
that  there  was  poison  in  the  cup  would  make  him  for- 
bear. 

It  is  evident,  that  hope  and  fear,  which  every  natu- 
ral desire  or  affection  may  create,  depend  upon  the 
opinion  of  future  good  or  ill. 

Thus  it  appears,  that  our  passions,  our  dispositions, 
and  our  opinions,  have  great  influence  upon  our  ani- 
mal principles,  to  strengthen  or  weaken,  to  excite  or 
restrain  them  ;  and,  by  that  means,  have  great  influ- 
ence upon  human  actions  and  characters. 

VOL.  IV.  19 


142  jESSAT  III. 

That  brute  animals  have  both  passions  and  disposi- 
tions similar,  in  many  respects,  to  those  of  men,  can- 
not be  doubted.  Whether  they  have  opinions,  is  not 
so  clear.  I  think  they  have  not,  in  the  proper  sense  of 
the  word.  But,  waving  all  dispute  upon  this  point,  it  will 
be  granted,  that  opinion  in  men  has  a  much  wider  field 
than  in  brutes.  No  man  will  say,  that  they  have  sys- 
tems of  theology,  morals,  jurisprudence,  or  politics ;  or 
that  they  can  reason  from  the  laws  of  nature,  in  me- 
chanics, medicine,  or  agriculture. 

They  feel  the  evils  or  enjoyments  that  are  present ; 
probably  they  imagine  those  which  experience  has  as- 
sociated with  what  they  feel.  But  they  can  take  no 
large  prospect  either  of  the  past  or  of  the  future,  nor 
see  through  a  train  of  consequences. 

A  dog  may  be  deterred  from  eating  what  is  before 
him,  by  the  fear  of  immediate  punishment,  which  he 
has  felt  on  like  occasions  ;  but  he  is  never  deterred  by 
the  consideration  of  health,  or  of  any  distant  good. 

I  have  been  credibly  informed,  that  a  monkey,  hav- 
ing once  been  intoxicated  with  strong  drink,  in  conse- 
quence of  which,  it  burnt  its  foot  in  the  fire,  and  had  a 
severe  fit  of  sickness,  could  never  after  be  induced 
to  drink  any  thing  but  pure  water.  I  believe  this  is 
the  utmost  pitch  which  the  faculties  of  brutes  can 
reach. 

From  the  influence  of  opinion  upon  the  conduct  of 
mankind  we  may  learn,  that  it  is  one  of  the  chief  in- 
struments to  be  used  in  the  discipline  and  government 
of  men. 

All  men,  in  the  early  part  of  life,  must  be  under  the 
discipline  and  government  of  parents  and  tutors.  Men 
who  live  in  society,  must  be  under  the  government  of 
laws  and  magistrates  through  life.  The  government 
of  men  is  undoubtedly  one  of  the  noblest  exertions  of 
human  power.    And  it  is  of  great  importance,  that 


OF  OPINION.  143 

those  who  have  any  share,  either  in  domes  tic  or  civil 
government,  should  know  the  nature  of  man,  and  how 
he  is  to  be  trained  and  governed. 

Of  all  instruments  of  governments,  opinion  is  the 
sweetest,  and  the  most  agreeable  to  the  nature  of  man. 
Obedience  that  ilows  from  opinion  is  real  freedom, 
which  every  man  desires.  That  which  is  extorted  by 
fear  of  punishment,  is  slavery;  a  yoke  which  is  always 
galling,  and  which  every  man  will  shake  off  when  it 
is  in  his  power. 

The  opinions  of  the  bulk  of  mankind  have  always 
been,  and  will  always  be,  Avhat  they  are  taught  by  those 
whom  they  esteem  to  be  wise  and  good ;  and,  there- 
fore, in  a  considerable  degree,  are  iathepower  of  those 
who  govern  them. 

Man,  uncorrupted  by  bad  habits  and  bad  opinions,  is 
of  all  animals  the  most  tractable ;  corrupted  by  these, 
he  is  of  all  animals  the  most  untractable. 

I  apprehend,  therefore,  that,  if  ever  civil  govern- 
ment shall  be  brought  to  perfection,  it  must  be  the 
principal  care  of  the  state  to  make  good  citizens  by  prop- 
er education,  and  proper  instruction  and  discipline. 

The  most  useful  part  of  medicine  is  that  which 
strengthens  the  constitution,  and  prevents  diseases  by 
good  regimen ;  the  rest  is  somewhat  like  propping  a 
ruinous  fabric  at  great  expense,  and  to  little  purpose. 
The  art  of  government  is  the  medicine  of  the  mind, 
and  the  most  useful  part  of  it  is  that  which  prevents 
crimes  and  bad  habits,  and  trains  men  to  virtue  and 
£;ood  habits,  by  proper  education  and  discipline. 

The  end  of  government  is  to  make  the  society  hap- 
py, which  can  only  be  done  by  making  it  good  and  vir- 
tuous. 

That  men  in  general  will  be  good  or  bad  members 
of  society,  according  to  the  education  and  discipline 
by  which  they  have  been  trained,  experience  may  con- 
vince us. 


144  ESS  AT   III. 

The  present  age  has  made  great  advances  in  the  art 
of  training  men  to  military'  duty.  It  >vill  not  be  said* 
that  those  who  enter  into  that  service  are  more  tracta- 
ble than  their  fellow  subjects  of  other  professions. 
And  I  know  not  why  it  should  be  thought  impossible  to 
train  men  to  equal  perfection  in  the  other  duties  of 
good  citizens. 

What  an  immense  difierence  is  there,  for  the  pur- 
pose of  war,  between  ati  army  properly  trained,  and  a 
militia  hastily  drawn  out  of  the  multitude?  What 
should  hinder  us  from  thinking,  tliat,  for  every  pur- 
pose of  civil  government,  there  may  be  a  like  differ- 
ence between  a  civil  society  properly  trained  to  vir- 
tue, good  habits  and  right  sentiments,  and  those  civil 
societies  which  we  now  behold  ?  But  I  fear  I  shall  be 
thought  to  digress  from  my  subject  into  Utopian  spec- 
ulation. 

To  make  an  end  of  what  I  have  to  say  upon  the  an- 
imal principles  of  action,  we  may  take  a  complex 
view  of  their  effect  in  life,  by  supposing  a  being  actu- 
ated by  principles  of  no  higher  order,  to  have  no  con- 
science or  sense  of  duty,  only  let  us  allow  him  that 
superiority  of  understanding,  and  that  power  of  self- 
government  which  man  actually  has.  I^et  us  specu- 
late a  little  upon  this  imaginary  being,  and  consider 
^vhat  conduct  and  tenor  of  action  might  be  expected 
from  him. 

It  is  evident  he  would  be  a  very  different  animal  from 
a  brute,  and  perhaps  not  very  different,  in  appearance, 
from  what  a  great  part  of  mankind  is. 

He  would  be  capable  of  considering  the  distant  con- 
sequences of  his  actions,  and  of  restraining  or  indulg-^ 
ing  his  appetites,  desires,  and  affections,  from  the  con* 
sideration  of  distant  good  or  evil. 

He  would  be  capable  of  choosing  some  main  end  of 
his  life,  and  planning  such  a  rule  of  conduct  as  appear- 


OF    OPINION.  145 

ed  most  subservient  to  it.     Of  this  we  have  reason  to 
think  no  brute  is  capable. 

We  can  perhaps  conceive  such  a  balance  of  the  ani- 
mal principles  of  action,  as,  with  very  little  self-govern- 
luent,  might  make  a  man  to  be  a  good  member  of  soci- 
ety, a  good  companion,  and  to  have  many  amiable 
qualities. 

The  balance  of  our  animal  principles,  I  think,  con- 
stitutes what  we  call  a  man's  natural  temper;  which 
may  be  good  or  bad,  without  regard  to  his  virtue. 

A  man  in  whom  the  benevolent  aifections,  the  desire 
of  esteem  and  good  humour,  are  naturally  prevalent* 
who  is  of  a  calm  and  dispassionate  nature,  who  has  the 
good  fortune  to  live  with  good  men,  and  associate 
with  good  companions,  may  behave  properly  with  little 
effort. 

His  natural  temper  leads  him,  in  most  cases,  to  do 
what  virtue  requires.  And  if  he  happens  not  to  be  ex- 
posed to  those  trying  situations,in  which  virtue  crosses 
the  natural  bent  of  his  temper,  he  has  no  great  tempta- 
tion to  act  amiss. 

But  perhaps  a  happy  natural  temper,  joined  with 
such  a  happy  situation,  is  more  ideal  than  real,  though 
no  doubt  some  men  make  nearer  approaches  to  it  than 
others. 

The  temper  and  the  situation  of  men  is  commonly 
such,  that  the  animal  principles  alone,  without  self- 
government,  would  never  produce  any  regular  and  con- 
sistent train  of  conduct. 

One  principle  crosses  another.  "Without  self  govern- 
ment, that  which  is  strongest  at  the  time  will  prevail. 
And  that  which  is  weakest  at  one  time  may,  from  pas- 
sion, from  a  change  of  disposition  or  of  fortune,  become 
strongest  at  another  time. 

Every  natural  appetite,  desire,  and  affection,  has  its 
own  present  gratification  only  in  view.    A  man,  there- 


146  ESSAY  III. 

fore,  who  has  no  other  leader  tlian  these,  ^vould  be  like 
a  ship  in  the  ocean  without  hands,  which  cannot  be 
said  to  be  destined  to  any  port.  lie  would  have  no  char- 
acter at  all,  but  be  benevolent  or  spiteful,  pleasant  or 
morose,  honest  or  dishonest,  as'  the  present  wind  of 
passion,  or  tide  of  humour  moved  him. 

Every  man  who  pursues  an  end,  be  it  good  or  bad, 
must  be  active  when  he  is  disposed  to  be  indolent ;  he 
must  rein  every  passion  and  appetite  that  would  lead 
him  out  of  his  road. 

Mortification  and  self-denial  are  found  not  in  the 
paths  of  virtue  only;  they  are  common  to  every  road 
that  leads  to  an  end,  be  it  ambition,  or  avarice,  or  even 
pleasure  itself.  Every  man  who  maintains  an  uniform 
and  consistent  character,  must  sweat  and  toil,  and  often 
struggle  with  his  present  inclination. 

Yet  those  who  steadily  pursue  some  end  in  life, 
though  they  must  often  restrain  their  strongest  desires, 
and  practice  much  self-denial,  have,  upon  the  whole, 
more  enjoyment  than  those  who  have  no  end  at  all,  but 
to  gratify  the  present  prevailing  inclination. 

A  dog  that  is  made  for  the  chase,  cannot  enjoy  the 
happiness  of  a  dog  without  that  exercise.  Keep  him 
within  doors,  feed  him  with  the  most  delicious  fare,  give 
him  all  the  pleasures  his  nature  is  capable  of,  he  soon 
becomes  a  dull,  torpid,  unhappy  animal.  No  enjoy- 
ment can  supply  the  want  of  that  employment  which 
nature  has  made  his  chief  good.  Let  him  hunt,  and 
neither  pain,  nor  hunger,  nor  fatigue,  seem  to  be  evils. 
Deprived  of  this  exercise,  he  can  relish  nothing.  Life 
itself  becomes  burdensome. 

It  is  no  disparagement  to  the  human  kind  to  say, 
that  man,  as  well  as  the  dog,  is  made  for  hunting,  and 
cannot  be  happy  but  in  some  vigorous  pursuit.  He  has 
indeed  nobler  game  to  pursue  than  the  dog,  but  he 
must  have  some  pursuit,  otherwise  life  stagnates,  all 


OF  OPINION.  147 

(lie  faculties  are  benumbed,  the  spirits  flag,  and  his  ex- 
istence becomes  an  unsupportable  burden. 

Even  the  mere  foxhunter,  who  has  no  higher  pur- 
suit than  his  dogs,  has  more  enjoyment  than  he  who 
has  no  pursuit  at  all.  He  has  an  end  in  view,  and  this 
invigorates  his  spirits,  makes  him  despise  pleasure, 
and  bear  cold,  hunger  and  fatigue,  as  if  they  were  no 
evils. 

Manet  sub  Jove  frigldo 
Venator,  tenerce  conjugis  iramemor; 
Seu  visa  est  catulis  cerva  fidelibus 
Seu  rupitteretes  Marsus  aper  plagas. 


ESSAY  III. 


OF  THE  PRINCIPLES  OF  ACTION. 


PART     III. 


OP  THE  RATIONAL  PRINCIPLES  OF  ACTION. 


CHAP.  I. 


THERE  ARE  RATIONAL  PRINCIPLES  OF  ACTION  IN  MAN. 

Mechanical  principles  of  action  produce  their  effect 
\yitbout  any  mU  or  intention  on  our  part.  We  may, 
by  a  voluntary  effort,  hinder  the  effect ;  but  if  it  be 
not  hindered  by  will  and  effort,  it  is  produced  without 
them. 

Animal  principles  of  action  require  intention  and 
will  in  their  operation,  but  not  judgment.  They  are, 
by  ancient  moralists,  very  properly  called  ccecoe  cupi- 
dines,  blind  desires. 

Having  treated  of  these  two  classes,  I  proceed  to  the 
third,  the  rational  principles  of  action  in  man;  which 
have  that  name,  because  they  can  have  no  existence 
in  beings  not  endowed  with  reason,  and,  in  all  their 


OF  RATIONAL  PRINCIPLES  OF  ACTION  IN  MAN.        149 

exertions,  require,   not  only  intention  and  will,  but 
judgment  or  reason. 

That  talent  which  we  calb^eoscn,  by  which  men  that 
are  adult  and  of  a  sound  mind,  arc  distinguished  from 
brutes,  idiots,  and  infants,  has,  in  all  ages,  among  the 
learned  and  unlearned,  been  conceived  to  have  two 
oflSces,  to  regulate  our  belief,  and  to  regulate  our  ac- 
tions and  conduct. 

"Whatever  we  believe,  we  think  agreeable  to  reason, 
and,  on  that  account,  yield  our  assent  to  it.  Whatever 
we  disbelieve,  we  think  contrary  to  reason,  and,  on  that 
account,  dissent  from  it.  Reason  therefore  is  allowed 
to  be  the  principle  by  which  our  belief  and  opinions 
ought  to  be  regulated. 

But  reason  has  been  no  less  universally  conceived  to 
be  a  principle,  by  which  our  actions  ought  to  be  regu- 
lated. 

To  act  reasonably,  is  a  phrase  no  less  common  in  all 
languages,  than  to  judge  reasonably.  We  framediately 
approve  of  a  man's  conduct,  when  it  appears  that  he 
had  good  reason  for  what  he  did.  And  every  action 
we  disapprove,  we  think  unreasonable,  or  contrary  to 
reason. 

A  way  of  speaking  so  universal  among  men,  com- 
mon to  the  learned  and  the  unlearned  in  all  nations, 
and  in  all  languages,  must  have  a  meaning.  To  sup- 
pose it  to  be  words  without  meaning,  is  to  treat,  with 
undue  contempt,  the  common  sense  of  mankind. 

Supposing  this  phrase  to  have  a  meaning,  we  may 
consider  in  what  way  reason  may  serve  to  regulate  hu- 
man conduct,  so  that  some  actions  of  men  are  to  be  de- 
nominated reasonable,  and  others  unreasonable. 

I  take  it  for  granted,  that  there  can  be  no  exercise 
of  reason  without  judgment,  nor,  on  the  other  hand, 
any  judgment  of  things   abstract  and  general,  without 
some  degree  of  reason. 
VOL.  IV.  go 


150  USSAT    III. 

If,  therefore,  there  he  any  principles  of  action  in  the 
human  constitution,  vhich,  in  (heir  nature,  necessarily 
imply  such  judgment,  they  are  the  principles  which 
we  may  call  rational,  to  distinguish  them  from  animal 
principles,  which  imply  desire,  and  will,  but  not  judg- 
ment. 

Bvery  deliberate  human  action  must  be  done  eithec 
ds  the  means,  or  as  an  end ;  as  the  means  to  some 
end.  to  which  it  is  subservient,  or  as  an  end,  for 
its  own  sake,  and  without  regard  to  any  thing  beyond 
it. 

That  it  is  a  part  of  the  ofBce  of  reason  to  determine, 
what  are  the  proper  means  to  any  end  which  we  de- 
sire, no  man  ever  denied.  Bat  some  philosophers, 
particularly  Mr.  Hume,  think  that  it  is  no  part  of  the 
office  of  reason  to  determine  the  ends  we  ought  to  pur- 
sue, or  the  preference  due  to  one  end  above  another. 
This,  he  thinfis,  is  not  the  office  of  reason,  but  of  taste 
or  feeling. 

If  this  be  so,  reason  cannot,  with  any  propriety,  be 
called  a  principle  of  action.  Its  office  can  only  be 
to  minister  to  the  principles  of  action,  by  discovering 
the  means  of  their  gratification.  Accordingly,  Mr. 
Hume  maintains,  that  reason  is  no  principle  of  action; 
but  that  it  is,  and  ought  to  be,  the  servant  of  the 
passions. 

I  shall  endeavour  to  show,  that,  among  the  various 
ends  of  human  actions,  there  are  some,  of  which,  with- 
out reason,  we  could  not  even  form  a  conception ;  and 
that,  as  soon  as  they  are  conceived,  a  regard  to  them 
is,  by  our  constitution,  not  only  a  principle  of  action, 
but  a  leading  and  governing  principle,  to  which  all  our 
animal  princii»les  are  subordinate,  and  to  which  they 
ought  to  be  subject. 

These  I  shall  call  rational  principles ;  because  they 
pan  exist  only  ii^  beings  endowed  with  reason^  and  be- 


OF  KATIONAl  PRINCIfliES  OF  ACTION  IN  MAN.      151 

cause,  to  act  from  these  principles,  is  what  has  always 
been  meant  by  acting  according  to  reason. 

The  ends  of  human  actions  I  have  in  view,  are  two, 
to  wit,  what  is  good  for  us  upon  the  whole,  and  what 
appears  to  be  our  duty.  They  are  very  strictly  con- 
nected, lead  to  the  same  course  of  conduct,  and  co-op- 
crate  with  each  other ;  and,  on  that  account,  have  com- 
monly been  comprehended  under  one  name,  that  of 
reason.  But  as  they  may  be  disjoined,  and  are  really 
distinct  principles  of  action?  1  shaU  consider  them  sep- 
arate! y„ 


153  £SSAY    III. 

CHAP.  II. 

OF   BEGARD    TO   OUR   GOOD   OX   THE    WHOLE. 

It  win  not  be  denied,  that  man,  when  he  comes  to 
years  of  understanding,  is  led  by  his  rational  nature,  to 
form  the  conception  of  what  is  good  for  him  upon  the 
whole. 

How  early  in  life  this  general  notion  of  good  enters 
into  the  mind,  I  cannot  pretend  to  determine.  It  is 
one  of  the  most  general  and  abstract  notions  we  form. 

"Whatever  makes  a  man  more  happy,  or  more  per- 
fect, is  good,  and  is  an  object  of  desire  as  soon  as  we 
are  capable  of  forming  the  conception  of  it.  [Note  T.] 
The  contrary  is  ill,  and  is  an  object  of  aversion. 

In  the  first  part  of  life,  we  have  many  enjoyments 
of  various  kinds,  but  very  similar  to  those  of  brute  ani- 
mals. 

'  They  consist  in  the  exercise  of  our  senses  and  powers 
of  motion,  the  gratification  of  our  appetite?,  and  the 
exertions  of  our  kind  affections.  These  are  chequered 
with  many  evils  of  pain,  and  fear,  and  disappointment^ 
and  sympathy  with  the  sufierings  of  others. 

But  the  goods  and  evils  of  this  period  of  life,  are  of 
short  duration,  and  soon  forgot.  The  mind  being  re- 
gardless of  the  past,  and  unconcerned  about  the  future, 
we  have  then  no  other  measure  of  good  but  the  pres- 
ent desire ;  no  other  measure  of  evil  but  the  present 
aversion. 

Every  animal  desire  has  some  particular  and  present 
object,  and  looks  not  beyond  that  object  to  its  conse- 
quences, or  to  the  connections  it  may  have  with  other 
things. 

The  present  object,  which  is  most  attractive,  or  ex- 
cites the  strongest  desire,  determines  the  choice,  what- 


OE  BEGARD    TO   OUR   GOOD   ON   THE   WHOXB.        ISS 

ever  be  its  consequences.  The  present  evil  that  press- 
es most,  is  avoided*  though  it  should  be  the  road  to  a 
greater  good  to  come,  or  the  only  way  to  escape  a 
greater  evil.  This  is  tlie  way  in  which  brutes  act,  and 
the  way  in  which  men  must  act,  till  they  come  to  the 
use  of  reason. 

As  we  grow  up  to  understanding,  we  extend  our 
view  botli  forward  and  backward.  "We  reflect  upon 
what  is  past,  and,  by  the  lamp  of  experience,  discern 
what  will  probably  happen  in  time  to  come.  We  find 
that  many  things  which  we  eagerly  desired,  were  too 
dearly  purchased,  and  that  things  grievous  for  the 
present,  like  nauseous  medicines,  may  be  salutary  in 
the  issue. 

We  learn  to  observe  the  connections  of  things,  and 
the  consequences  of  our  actions ;  and,  taking  an  ex- 
tended view  of  our  existence,  past,  present,  and  future, 
we  correct  our  first  notions  of  good  and  ill,  and  form 
the  conception  of  what  is  good  or  ill  upon  the  whole; 
which  must  be  estimated,  not  from  the  present  feeling, 
or  from  the  present  animal  desire  or  aversion,  but  from 
a  due  consideration  of  its  consequences,  certain  or  prob* 
able,  during  the  whole  of  our  existence. 

That  which,  taken  with  all  its  discoverable  connec- 
tions and  consequences,  brings  more  good  than  ill,  I 
call  good  upon  the  whole. 

That  brute  animals  have  any  conception  of  this 
good,  I  see  no  reason  to  believe.  And  it  is  evident, 
that  man  cannot  have  the  conception  of  it,  till  reason 
be  so  far  advanced,  that  he  can  seriously  reflect  upon 
the  past,  and  take  a  prospect  of  the  future  part  of  his 
existence. 

It  appears  therefore,  that  the  tcry  conception  of 
what  is  good  or  ill  for  us  upon  the  whole,  is  the  off- 
spring of  reason,  and  can  be  only  in  beings  endowed 
with  reason.    And  if  this  conception  give  rise  to  any 


1^  ESSAY  III. 

principle  of  action  in  man,  which  lie  had  not  befoi*e, 
that  principle  may  very  properly  be  called  a  ration- 
al principle  of  action. 

I  pretend  not  in  this  to  say  any  thing  that  is  new, 
bat  what  reason  suggested  to  those  wlio  first  turned 
their  attention  to  the  philosophy  of  morals.  I  beg  leave 
to  quote  one  passage  from  Cicero,  in  his  first  book  of 
Offices  ,•  wherein,  with  his  usual  elegance,  he  expresses 
the  substance  of  what  I  have  said.  And  there  is  good 
reason  to  think  that  Cicero  borrowed  it  from  Panetius, 
a  Greek  philosopher,  whose  books  of  Offices  are  lost. 

**  Sed  inter  hominem  et  belluam  hoc  maxime  interest, 
quod  hsec  tantum  quantum  sensu  movetur,  ad  id  solum 
quod  adest,  quodque  prsesens  est  se  accommodat,  pau- 
lulum  admodum  sentiens  prseteritum  aut  futurum  : 
Homo  autem  quoniam  rationis  est  particeps,  per  quam 
consequentia  cernit,  causas  rerum  videt,  earuiuque  prte- 
gressus  et  quasi  ant«cessiones  non  ignorat ;  simililudi- 
nes  comparat,  et  rebus  prsesentibus  ad  ungit  atque  aa- 
nectit  futuras  ;  facile  totius  vitsecursum  videt,  ad  eam- 
que  degendam  preparat  res  necessarias.'* 

I  observe,  in  the  next  place,  that  as  soon  as  we  have 
the  conception  of  what  is  good  or  ill  for  us  upon  the 
whole,  we  are  led,  by  our  constitution,  to  seek  the  good 
and  avoid  the  ill ;  and  this  becomes,  not  only  a  pi-inci- 
ple  of  action,  but  a  leading  or  governing  principle,  to 
ivhich  all  our  animal  principles  ought  to  be  subordinate. 
I  am  very  apt  to  think,  with  Dr.  Price,  that,  in  in- 
telligent beings,  the  desire  of  what  is  good,  and  aver- 
sion to  what  is  ill,  is  necessarily  connected  with  the 
intelligent  nature  ;  [Note  U.]  and  that  it  h  a  con- 
tradiction to  suppose  such  a  being  to  have  the  notion  of 
good  without  the  desire  of  it,  or  the  notion  of  ill  with- 
out aversion  to  it.  Perhaps  there  may  be  other  neces- 
sary connections  between  understanding  and  the  beat 
principles  of  action^  which  our  fuuiUUeb  ace  too  weak 


OF  REGARD  TO  OUK  GOOD  ON  THE  WHOLE.   155 

to  discern.  That  they  are  necessarily  connected  ia 
him  who  is  perfect  in  understanding,  we  have  good  rea- 
son to  believe. 

To  prefer  a  greater  good,  though  distant,  to  a  less 
that  is  present ;  to  choose  a  present  evil,  in  order  to 
avoid  a  greater  evil,  or  to  obtain  a  greater  good,  is,  in 
the  judgment  of  all  men,  wise  and  reasonable  conduct ; 
and,  when  a  man  acts  the  contrary  part,  all  men  will 
acknowledge,  that  he  acts  foolishly  and  unreasonably. 
Nor  will  it  be  denied,  that,  in  innumerable  cases  in  com- 
mon life,  our  animal  principles  draw  us  one  way,  while 
a  regard  to  what  is  good  on  the  whole,  draws  us  the 
contrary  way.  Thus  the  flesh  lusteth  against  the  spirit, 
and  the  spirit  against  the  flesh,  and  these  two  are  con- 
trary. That  in  every  conflict  of  this  kind  the  rational 
principle  ought  to  prevail,  and  the  animal  to  be  subordi- 
nate, is  too  evident  to  need,  or  to  admit  of  proof. 

Thus,  I  think,  it  appears,  that  to  pursue  what  is 
good  upon  the  whole,  and  to  avoid  what  is  ill  upon  the 
whole,  is  a  rational  principle  of  action,  grounded  upon 
our  constitution  as  reasonable  creatures. 

It  appears  that  it  is  not  without  just  cause,  that  this 
principle  of  action  has  in  all  ages  been  called  reason,  in 
opposition  to  our  animal  principles,  which  in  common 
language  are  called  by  the  general  name  of  the  pas- 
sions. 

The  first  not  only  operates  in  a  calm  and  cool  man- 
ner, like  reason,  but  implies  real  judgment  in  all  its 
operations.  The  second,  to  wit,  the  passions,  are  blind 
desires,  of  some  particular  object,  without  any  judg- 
ment or  consideration,  whether  it  be  good  for  us  upon 
the  whole,  or  ill. 

It  appears  also,  that  the  fundamental  maxim  of  pru- 
dence and  of  all  good  morals,  that  the  passions  ought, 
in  all  cases,  to  be  under  the  dominion  of  reason,  is  not 
paly  self-evident,  when  rightly  understood,  but  is  e?- 


156  ESSAY  III. 

pressed  according  to  the  common  use  and  propriety  of 
language. 

The  contrary  maxim,  maintained  by  Mr.  Hume,  can 
only  be  defended  by  a  gross  and  palpable  abuse  of  words. 
For,  in  order  to  defend  it,  he  must  include  under  the 
passions,  that  very  principle  which  has  always,  in  all 
languages,  been  called  reason,  and  never  was,  in  any 
language,  called  a  passion.  And  from  the  meaning  o(* 
the  word  reason  he  must  exclude  the  most  important 
part  of  it,  by  which  we  are  able  to  discern  and  to  pur- 
sue what  appears  to  be  good  upon  the  whole.  And 
thus,  including  the  most  important  part  of  reason  under 
passion,  and  making  the  least  important  part  of  reason 
to  be  the  whole,  he  defends  his  favourite  paradox,  that 
reason  is,  and  ought  to  be,  the  servant  of  the  pas- 
sions. 

To  judge  of  what  is  true  or  false  in  speculative  points, 
is  the  office  of  speculative  reason ;  and  to  judge  of  what 
is  good  or  ill  for  us  upon  the  whole,  is  the  office  of  prac- 
tical reason.  Of  true  and  false  there  are  no  degrees  ; 
but  of  good  and  ill  there  are  many  degrees,  and  many 
kinds^;  and  men  are  very  apt  to  form  erroneous  opinions 
concerning  them ;  misled  by  their  passions,  by  the  au- 
thority of  the  multitude,  and  by  other  causes. 

Wise  men,  in  all  ages,  have  reckoned  it  a  chief  point 
of  wisdom,  to  make  a  right  estimate  of  the  goods  and 
evils  of  life.  They  have  laboured  to  discover  the  errors 
of  the  multitude  on  this  important  point,  and  to  warn 
others  against  them. 

The  ancient  moralists,  though  divided  into  sects,  all 
agreed  in  this,  that  opinion  has  a  mighty  infiuence  up- 
on what  we  commonly  account  the  goods  and  ills  of 
life,  to  alleviate  or  lo  aggravate  them. 

The  Stoics  carried  this  so  far,  as  to  conclude  that 
they  all  depended  on  opinion.  n;t'vTfl&'T;ro'A>j4'«?  was  a 
favourite  maxim  with  them. 


OP  REGARD   TO   OUR   GOOD    ON   THE    WHOLE.      157 

We  see,  indeed,  that  the  same  station  or  condition 
of  life,  which  makes  one  man  happy,  makes  another 
miserable,  and  to  a  third  is  perfectly  indifferent.  AVe 
see  men  miserable  through  life,  from  vain  fears,  and 
anxious  desires,  grounded  solely  upon  wrong  opinions. 
We  see  men  wear  themselves  out  with  toilsome  days, 
and  sleepless  nights,  in  pursuit  of  some  object  which 
they  never  attain  ;  or  which,  when  attained,  gives  little 
satisfaction,  perhaps  real  disgust. 

The  evils  of  life,  which  every  man  must  feel,  have  a 
very  different  effect  upon  different  men.  What  sinks 
one  into  despair  and  absolute  misery,  rouses  the  virtue 
and  magoaniuiity  of  another,  who  bears  it  as  the  lot  of 
humanity,  and  as  the  discipline  of  a  wise  and  merciful 
Father  in  heaven.  He  rises  superior  to  adversity,  and 
is  made  wiser  and  better  by  it,  and  consequently  happier. 

It  is  therefore  of  the  last  importance,  in  the  conduct 
of  life,  to  have  just  opinions  with  respect  to  good  and 
evil ;  and  surely  it  is  the  province  of  reason  to  correct 
wrong  opinions,  and  to  lead  us  into  those  that  are  just 
and  true. 

It  is  true  indeed,  that  men's  passions  and  appetites, 
too  often  draw  them  to  act  contrary  to  their  cool  judg- 
ment and  opinion  of  what  is  best  for  them.  Video  me- 
liora  prohoque,  deteriora,  sequor,  is  the  case  in  every 
wilful  deviation  from  our  true  interest,  and  our  duty. 

When  this  is  the  case,  the  man  is  self- condemned, 
he  sees  that  he  acted  the  part  of  a  brute,  when  he 
ought  to  have  acted  the  part  of  a  man.  He  is  con- 
vinced that  reason  ought  to  have  restrained  his  passion, 
and  not  to  have  given  the  rein  to  it. 

When  he  feels  the  bad  effects  of  his  conduct,  he  im- 
putes them  to  himself,  and  would  be  stung  with  re- 
morse for  his  folly,  though  he  had  no  account  to  make 
to  a  superior  Being.    He  has  sinned  against  himself, 

VOL.  IV.  31 


158  ES3A.T   III. 

and  brought  upon  his  own  head  the  punishment  which 
Lis  folly  deserved. 

From  this  we  may  see,  that  this  rational  principle  of  a 
regard  to  our  good  upon  the  whole,  gives  us  the  concep- 
tion of  a  right  and  a  wrong  in  human  conduct,  at  least 
of  a  wise  and  ajfooiis/i.  It  produces  a  kind  of  self-ap- 
probatiouy  when  the  passions  and  appetites  are  kept  ia 
their  due  subjection  to  it ;  and  a  kind  of  remorse  and 
compunction,  when  it  yields  to  them. 

In  these  respects,  this  principle  is  so  similar  to  the 
moral  principle,  or  conscience,  and  so  interwoven  with 
it,  that  both  are  commonly  comprehended  under  the 
name  of  reason.  This  similarity  led  many  of  the  an- 
cient philosophers,  and  some  among  the  moderns,  to 
resolve  conscience,  or  a  sense  of  duty,'  entirely  into  a 
regard  to  what  is  good  for  us  upon  the  whole. 

That  they  are  distinct  principles  of  action,  though 
both  lead  to  the  same  conduct  in  life,  I  shall  have  occa- 
sion  to  show^  when  I  come  to  treat  of  conscience. 


THE    TENDENCY   OF   THIS   PRINCIPLE.  159 

CHAP.  III. 

THE    TENDENCY   OF   THIS   PRINCIPLE. 

It  has  been  the  opinion  of  the  wisest  men,  in  all 
ages,  that  this  principle,  of  a  regard  to  our  good  upon 
the  whole,  in  a  man  duly  enlightened,  leads  to  the  prac- 
tice of  every  virtue. 

This  was  acknowledged,  even  by  Epicurus ;  and  the 
best  moralists  among  the  ancients  derived  all  the  vir- 
tues from  this  principle.  For,  among  them,  the  whole 
of  morals  was  reduced  to  this  question,  What  is  the 
greatest  good  ?  Or  what  course  of  conduct  is  best  for 
us  upon  the  whole  ? 

In  order  to  resolve  this  question,  they  divided  goods 
into  three  classes,  the  goods  of  the  body ;  the  goods  of 
fortune,  or  external  goods ;  and  the  goods  of  the  mind; 
meaning,  by  the  last,  wisdom  and  virtue. 

Comparing  these  different  classes  of  goods,  they 
showed,  with  convincing  evidence,  that  the  goods  of  the 
mind  are,  in  many  respects,  superior  to  those  of  the 
body  and  of  fortune,  not  only  as  they  have  more  digni- 
ty, are  more  durable,  and  less  exposed  to  the  strokes 
of  fortune,  but  chiefly  as  they  are  the  only  goods  in 
GUP  power,  and  which  depend  wholly  on  our  conduct. 

Epicurus  himself  maintained,  that  the  wise  man 
may  be  happy  in  the  tranquillity  of  his  mind,  even 
when  racked  with  pain,  and  struggling  with  adversity. 

They  observed  very  justly,  that  the  goods  of  fortune, 
and  even  those  of  the  body,  depend  much  on  opinion ; 
and  that,  when  our  opinion  of  them  is  duly  corrected  by 
reason,  we  shall  find  (hem  of  small  value  in  themselves. 

How  can  he  be  happy  who  places  his  happiness  in 
things  which  it  is  not  in  his  power  to  attain,  or  in  things 
from  which,  when  attained,  a  fit  of  sickness,  or  a  stroke 
of  fortune,  may  tear  him  asunder. 


160  ESSAY   III. 

The  value  we  put  upon  things,  and  our  uneasiness 
in  the  want  of  them,  dopend  upon  the  strength  of  our 
desires;  correct  the  desire,  and  the  uneasiness  ceases. 

The  fear  of  the  evils  of  hody  and  of  fortune,  is  often 
a  greater  evil  than  the  things  we  fear.  As  the  wise 
man  moderates  his  desires  by  temperance,  so,  to  real 
or  imaginary  dangers,  he  opposes  tlie  shield  of  forti- 
tude and  magnanimity,  which  raises  h'm  above  him- 
self, and  makes  him  happy  and  triumphant  in  those 
moments  wherein  others  are  most  miserable. 

These  oracles  of  reason  led  the  Stoics  so  far  as  to 
maintain,  that  all  desires  and  fears,  with  regard  to 
things  not  in  our  power,  ought  to  be  totally  eradicat- 
ed; that  virtue  is  the  only  good ;  that  what  we  call 
the  goods  of  Ihe  body  and  of  fortune,  are  really  things 
indifferent,  which  may,  according  to  circumstances, 
prove  good  or  ill,  and  therefore  have  no  intrinsic  good- 
ness in  themselves  ;  that  our  sole  business  ought  to  be, 
to  act  our  part  well,  and  to  do  what  is  right,  without 
the  least  concern  about  things  not  in  our  power,  which 
we  ought,  with  perfect  acquiescence,  to  leave  to  the 
care  of  him  who  governs  the  world. 

This  noble  and  elevated  conception  of  human  wis- 
dom and  duty  was  taught  by  Socrates,  free  from  the 
extravagancies  which  the  Stoics  afterward  joined  with 
it.  "We  see  it  in  the  Alcibiades  of  Plato  ;  from  which 
Juvenal  has  taken  it  in  his  tenth  satire,  and  adorned  it 
with  the  graces  of  poetry. 

Omnibus  in  terris  (juse  sunt  a  Gadibus  usque 
Auroram  ct  Gangen,  pauci  digiioscere  possunt 
Vera  bona,  atque  illis  raultuin  diversa,  remoia 
Erroris  nebula.     Quid  enim  ratione  timemus  ? 
Aut  cupimus  ?  Quid  tam  dextra  pede  concupis  ut  te 
Conatus  non  poenitcat,  votique  pei-acti  ? 
Nil  ergo  optabunt  homines  ?  Si  consilium  vis, 
Permittes  ipsis  expendere  numinibus,  quid 
Conveniat  nobis,  rebusque  sit  utile  nostris. 
Kam  pro  jucundis  aptissima  quxque  dabunt  Dii. 


THE   TENDENCY  OF  THIS  PRINCIPLE.  161 

Charior  est  illls  homo  quam  sibi     N09  animorum 
Impulsu,  et  cteca  magnaque  cupidine  ducti, 
Conjugiana  petimus,  partumque  uxoris ;  at  illis 
JVottan  qui  pueri,  qualisqae  fulura  sit  uxor. 
Portem  posce  anirnum,  el  mortis  terrore  carentemj 
Qui  spatium  vitoe  cxtreraum  inter  munera  ponat 
Natures  ;  qui  ferre  queat  quoscunque  labores, 
Nesciat  irasci,  cupiat  nihil,  et  potiores 
Hercules  serumnas  credat,  ssevosque  labores 
Et  venere,  et  coenis,  et  plumis,  Sardinapali. 
Monstro  quid  ipse  tibi  pqssis  dare.     Semita  certe 
^  Tranquillse  per  virtutem  pajiet  unica  vitx. 

Nullum  numen  abest  si  sit  prudentia;  sed  te 
Nos  facimus  fortuna  Deam,  coeloque  locamus. 

Even  Horace,  in  his  serious  moments^  falls  into  this 
system. 

Nil  admirari,  prope  res  est  una  Numici, 
Solaque  qu»  possit  facere  et  servare  beatum. 

"We  cannot  but  admire  the  Stoical  system  ofmorals, 
even  when  we  think,  that,  in  some  points,  it  went  be- 
yond the  pitch  of  human  nature.  The  virtue,  the 
temperance,  the  fortitude,  and  magnanimity  of  some 
■who  sincerely  embraced  it,  amidst  all  the  flattery  of 
sovereign  power  and  the  luxury  of  a  court,  will  be  ever- 
lasting monuments  to  the  honor  of  that  system,  and  to 
the  honor  of  human  nature. 

That  a  due  regard  to  what  is  best  for  us  upon  the 
whole,  in  an  enlightened  mind,  leads  to  the  practice  of 
every  virtue,  may  be  argued  from  considering  what 
we  think  best  for  those  for  whom  we  have  the  strong- 
est affection,  and  whose  good  we  tender  as  our  own. 
In  judging  for  ourselves,  our  passions  and  appetites  are 
apt  to  bias  our  judgment ;  but  when  we  judge  for  others^ 
this  bias  is  removed,  and  we  judge  impartially. 

"What  is  it  then  that  a  wise  man  would  wish  as  the 
greatest  good  to  a  brother,  a  son,  or  a  friend  ? 

Is  it  that  he  may  spend  his  life  in  a  constant  round 
of  the  pleasures  of  sense,  and  fare  sumptuously  every 
day? 


163  ESSAY   III. 

No,  surely  ;  \vc  wish  Lira  to  be  a  man  of  real  virtue 
and  worth.  "We  may  wish  for  him  an  honorable  sta- 
tion in  life ;  but  only  with  this  condition,  that  he  ac* 
quit  himself  honorably  in  it,  and  acquire  just  reputa- 
tion, by  being  useful  to  his  country  and  to  mankind. 
We  would  a  thousand  times  rather  wish  him  honor- 
ably to  undergo  the  labours  of  Hercules,  than  to  dis- 
solve in  pleasure  with  Sardinapalus. 

Such  would  be  the  wish  of  every  man  of  understand 
ing  for  the  friend  whom  he  loves  as  his  own  soul.  Such 
things,  therefore,  he  judges  to  be  best  for  him  upon 
the  whole ;  and  if  he  judges  otherwise  for  himself,  it  is 
only  because  his  judgment  is  perverted  by  animal  pas- 
sions and  desires. 

The  sum  of  what  has  been  said  in  these  three  chap- 
ters amounts  to  this  : 

There  is  a  principle  of  action  in  men  that  are  adult 
and  of  a  sound  mind,  which,  in  all  ages,  has  been 
called  reason,  and  set  in  opposition  to  the  animal  prin- 
ciples which  we  call  the  passions.  The  ultimate  ob- 
ject of  this  principle  is  what  we  judge  to  be  good  upon 
the  whole.  This  is  not  the  object  of  any  of  our  ani- 
anal  principles,  they  being  all  directed  to  particular  ob- 
jects, without  any  comparison  with  others,  or  any  con- 
sideration of  their  being  good  or  ill  upon  the  whole. 

What  is  good  upon  the  whole  cannot  even  be  con- 
ceived without  the  exercise  of  reason,  and  therefore 
cannot  be  an  object  to  beings  tliat  have  not  some  de- 
gree of  reason. 

As  soon  as  we  have  the  conception  of  this  object,  we 
are  led,  by  our  constitution,  to  desire  and  pursue  it.  It 
justly  claims  a  preference  to  all  objects  of  pursuit  that 
can  come  in  competition  with  it.  In  preferring  it  to 
any  gratiGcation  that  opposes  it,  or  in  submitting  to  any 
pain  or  mortification  which  it  requires,  we  act  accord- 
ing to  reason  j  and  every  such  action  is  accompanied 


THE   TENDENCY   OF  THIS   PRINCIPLE.  163 

with  self-approbation,  and  the  approbation  of  mankind. 
The  contrary  actions  are  accompanied  with  shame  and 
self-condemnation  in  the  agent,  and  with  contempt  in 
the  spectator,  as  foolish  and  unreasonable. 

The  right  application  of  this  principle  to  our  con- 
duct requires  an  extensive  prospect  of  human  life,  and 
a  correct  judgment  and  estimate  of  its  goods  and  evils^ 
with  respect  to  their  intrinsic  worth  and  dignity,  their 
constancy  and  duration,  and  their  attainable ness.  He 
must  be  a  wise  man  indeed,  if  any  such  man  there  he, 
who  can  perceive,  in  every  instance,  or  even  in  every 
important  instance,  what  is  best  for  him  upon  the 
whole,  if  he  have  no  other  rule  to  direct  his  conduct. 

However,  according  to  the  best  judgment  which  wise 
men  have  been  able  to  form,  this  principle  leads  to  the 
practice  of  every  virtue.  It  leads  directly  to  the  vir- 
tues of  prudence,  temperance  and  fortitude. 

And  when  we  consider  ourselves  as  social  creatures, 
whose  happiness  or  misery  is  very  much  connected  with 
that  of  our  fellow  men  ;  when  we  consider,  that  there 
are  many  benevolent  affections  planted  in  our  constitu- 
tion, whose  exertions  make  a  capital  part  of  our  good 
and  enjoyment ;  from  these  considerations,  this  prin- 
ciple leads  us  also,  though  more  indirectly,  to  the 
practice  of  justice,  humanity,  and  all  the  social  virtues. 

It  is  true,  that  a  regard  to  our  own  good  cannot,  of 
itself,  produce  any  benevolent  affection.  But,  if  such 
affections  be  a  part  of  our  constitution,  and  if  the  exer- 
cise of  them  make  a  capital  part  of  our  happiness,  a  re- 
gard to  our  own  good  ought  to  lead  us  to  cultivate  and 
exercise  them,  as  every  benevolent  affection  makes  the 
good  of  others  to  be  our  own. 


164i  £SSAT   III. 

CHAP.  IV. 

DEFECTS*  OF   THIS   PRINCIPLE. 

Having  explained  the  nature  of  this  principle  of 
action,  and  shown  in  general  the  tenor  of  conduct  to 
which  it  leads,  I  shall  conclude  what  relates  to  it,  hy 
pointing  out  some  of  its  defects,  if  it  be  supposed,  as  it 
has  been  bj  some  philosophers,  to  be  the  only  regulat- 
ing principle  of  human  conduct. 

Upon  that  supposition,  it  would  neither  be  a  suffi- 
ciently plain  rule  of  conduct,  nor  would  it  raise  the 
human  character  to  that  degree  of  perfection  of  which 
it  is  capable,  nor  would  it  yield  so  much  real  happi- 
ness as  w  hen  it  is  joined  with  another  rational  princi- 
ple of  action,  to  wit,  a  disinterested  regard  to  duty. 

1st,  I  apprehend  the  greater  part  of  mankind  can 
never  attain  such  extensive  views  of  human  life,  and 
so  correct  a  judgment  of  good  and  ill,  as  the  right  ap-< 
plication  of  this  principle  requires.     [Note  W.] 

The  authority  of  the  poet  before  quoted  is  of  weight 
in  this  point.  *'  Pauci  dignoscere  possunt  vera  bona» 
remota  erroris  nebula."  The  ignorance  of  the  bulk 
of  mankind  concurs  with  the  strength  of  their  passions 
to  lead  them  into  error  in  this  most  important  point. 

Every  man,  in  his  calm  moments,  wishes  to  know 
what  is  best  for  him  on  the  whole,  and  to  do  it.  But 
the  difficulty  of  discovering  it  clearly,  amid  such  vari- 
ety of  opinions  and  the  importunity  of  present  desires^ 
tempt  men  to  give  over  the  search,  and  to  yield  to  the 
present  inclination. 

Though  philosophers  and  moralists  have  taken 
much  laudable  pains  to  correct  the  errors  of  mankind 
in  this  great  point,  their  instructions  are  known  to  few; 
they  have  little  iuflueace  upon  the  greater  part  of  those 


DEFECTS    OF   THIS   PRINCIPLE.  165 

io  whom  they  are   known,  and  sometimes  little  even 
upon  the  philosopher  himself. 

Speculative  discoveries  gradually  spread  from  tlie 
knowing  to  the  ignorant,  and  diffuse  themselves  over 
all;  so  that,  with  regard  to  them,  the  world,  it  may  he 
hoped,  will  still  be  growing  wiser.  But  the  errors  of 
men,  with  regard  to  what  is  truly  good  or  ill,  after 
being  discovered  and  refuted  in  every  age,  are  still 
prevalent. 

Men  stand  in  need  of  a  sharper  monitor  to  their  du- 
ty than  a  dubious  view  of  distant  good.  There  is  rea- 
son to  believe,  that  a  present  sense  of  duty  has,  in 
many  cases  a  stronger  influence  than  the  apprehension 
of  distant  good  would  have  of  itself.  And  it  cannot  be 
doubted,  that  a  sense  of  guilt  and  demerit  is  a  more 
pungent  reprover  than  the  bare  apprehension  of  having 
mistaken  our  true  interest. 

The  brave  soldier,  in  exposing  himself  to  danger  and 
death,  is  animated,  not  by  a  cold  computation  of  the 
good  and  the  ill,  but  by  a  noble  and  elevated  sense  of 
military  duty. 

Aphilosophershows,  by  a  copious  and  just  induction, 
what  is  our  real  good  and  what  our  ill.  But  this  kind 
of  reasoning  is  not  easily  apprehended  by  the  bulk  of 
men.  It  has  too  little  force  upon  their  minds  to  resist 
the  sophistry  of  the  passions.  They  are  apt  to  think, 
that  if  such  rules  be  good  in  the  general,  they  may  ad- 
mit of  particular  exceptions,  and  that  what  is  good  for 
the  greater  part,  may,  to  some  persons,  on  account  of 
particular  circumstances,  be  ill. 

Thus,  I  apprehend,  that,  if  we  had  no  plainer  rule  to 
direct  our  conduct  in  life  than  a  regard  to  our  great- 
est good,  the  greatest  part  of  mankind  would  be  fatally 
misled,  even  by  ignorance  of  the  road  to  it. 

2dly,  Though  a  steady  pursuit  of  our  own  real  good 
may,  in  an  enlightened  mind,  produce  a  kind  of  virtue 

vol.  IV.  32 


166  ESSAY    III. 

"which  is  entitled  to  some  degree  of  approbation)  yet  it 
can  never  produce  tlie  noblest  kind  of  lirtue,  which 
claims  our  higliest  love  and  esteem. 

We  account  him  a  wise  man  who  is  wise  for  himself; 
andy  if  he  prosecutes  this  end  through  difficulties  and 
temptations  tliat  lie  in  his  way.  his  character  is  far  su- 
perior to  that  of  the  man  who,  having  the  same  end  in 
view,  is  continually  starting  out  of  the  road  to  it,  from 
an  attachment  to  his  appetites  and  passions,  and  doing 
every  day  what  he  knows  he  shall  heartily  repent. 

Yet,  after  all,  this  wise  man,  whose  thoughts  and 
caresare  all  centered  ultimately  in  himself,  who  indulges 
even  his  social  affections  only  with  a  view  to  his  own 
good,  is  not  the  man  whom  we  cordially  love  and  es- 
teem. 

Like  a  cunning  merchant,  he  carries  his  goods  to  the 
best  market,  and  watches  every  opportunity  of  putting 
them  off  to  the  best  account.  He  docs  well  and  wisely. 
But  it  is  for  himself.  We  owe  him  nothing  upon  this 
account.  Even  when  he  does  good  to  others,  he  means 
only  to  serve  himself;  and  therefore  has  no  just  claim 
to  their  gratitude  or  affection. 

This  surely,  if  it  be  virtue,  is  not  the  noblest  kind, 
but  a  low  and  mercenary  species  of  it.  It  can  neither 
give  a  noble  elevation  to  the  mind  that  possesses  it,  nor 
attract  the  esteem  and  love  of  others. 

Our  cordial  love  and  esteem  is  due  only  to  the  man 
whose  soul  is  not  contracted  within  itself,  but  embraces 
a  more  extensive  object :  who  loves  virtue,  not  for  her 
dowry  only,  but  for  her  own  sake :  whose  benevolence 
is  not  selfish,  but  generous  and  disinterested :  who,  for- 
getful of  himself,  has  the  common  good  at  heart,  not 
as  the  means  only,  but  as  the  end ;  who  abhors  what 
is  base,  though  he  were  to  be  a  gainer  by  it,  and  loves 
that  which  is  right>  although  he  should  suffer  by  it. 


DEFECTS    OF   THIS    S'RTNCIPI.E.  167 

Such  a  man  we  esteem  the  perfect  man,  compared 
with  whom,  he  who  has  no  other  aim  but  good  to  him- 
self, is  a  mean  and  despicable  character. 

Disinterested  goodness  and  rectitude  is  the  glorj^  of 
the  Divine  Nature,  without  which  he  might  be  an  ob- 
ject of  fear  or  hope,  but  not  of  true  devotion.  And  it  is 
the  image  of  this  divine  attribute  in  the  human  charac- 
ter, that  is  the  glory  of  man. 

To  serve  God  and  be  useful  to  mankind,  without  any 
concern  about  our  own  good  and  happiness,  is,  I  be- 
lieve, beyond  the  pitch  of  human  nature.  But  to  serve 
God  and  be  useful  to  men,  merely  to  obtain  good  to  our- 
selves, or  to  avoid  ill,  is  servility,  and  not  that  liberal 
service  which  true  devotion  and  real  virtue  require. 

Sdly,  Though  one  might  be  apt  to  think,  that  he  has 
the  best  chance  for  happiness,  who  has  no  other  end 
of  his  deliberate  actions  but  his  own  good  j  yet  a  little 
consideration  may  satisfy  us  of  the  contrary. 

A  concern  for  our  own  good  is  not  a  principle  that, 
of  itself,  gives  any  enjoyment.  On  the  contrary,  it  is 
apt  to  fill  the  mind  with  fear,  and  care,  and  anxiety. 
And  these  concomitants  of  this  principle,  often  give 
pain  and  uneasiness,  that  overbalance  the  good  they 
have  in  view. 

"We  may  here  compare,  in  point  of  present  happiness, 
two  imaginary  characters  ',  the  first,  of  the  man  who 
has  no  other  ultimate  end  of  his  deliberate  actions  but 
his  own  good ;  and  who  has  no  regard  to  virtue  or  duty, 
but  as  the  means  to  that  end.  The  second  character 
is  that  of  the  man  who  is  not  indifferent  with  regard  to 
his  own  good,  but  has  another  ultimate  end  perfectly 
consistent  with  it,  to  wit,  a  disinterested  love  of  virtue, 
fop  its  own  sake,  or  a  regard  to  duty  as  an  end. 

Comparing  these  two  characters  in  point  of  happi- 
ness, that  we  may  give  all  possible  advantage  to  the 
selfish  principle,  we  shall  suppose  the  man  who  is  actu- 


168  ESgAY   ITI. 

uted  solely  by  it,  to  be  so  far  enlightened  as  to  sec  it 
liis  interest  to  live  soberly,  righteously,  and  godly  in 
the  world ;  and  that  he  follows  the  same  course  of  con- 
duct from  the  motive  of  his  own  good  only,  which  the 
other  docs,  in  a  great  measure,  or  in  some  measure, 
from  a  sense  of  duty  and  rectitude. 

We  put  the  case  so  as  that  the  difference  betweeit 
these  two  persons  may  be,  not  in  what  they  do,  but  in 
the  motive  from  which  they  do  it;  and,  I  think,  there 
can  be  no  doubt  that  he  who  acts  from  the  noblest  and 
most  generous  motive,  will  have  most  happiness  in  his 
conduct. 

The  one  labours  only  for  hire,  without  any  love  to 
the  work.  The  other  loves  the  work,  and  thinks  it 
the  noblest  and  most  honorable  he  can  be  employed  in. 
To  the  first,  the  mortification  and  self-denial  which  the 
course  of  virtue  requires,  is  a  grievous  task,  which  he 
submits  to  only  through  necessity.  To  the  other  it  is 
victory  and  triumph,  in  the  most  honorable  warfare. 

It  ought  further  to  be  considered,  that  although  wise 
men  have  concluded  that  virtue  is  the  only  road  to  hap- 
piness, this  conclusion  is  founded  chiefly  upon  the  natural 
respect  men  have  for  virtue,  and  the  good  or  happiness 
that  is  intrinsic  to  it  and  arises  from  the  love  of  it.  If 
we  suppose  a  man,  as  we  now  do,  altogether  destitute 
of  this  principle,  who  considered  virtue  only  as  the 
means  to  another  end,  there  is  no  reason  to  think  that 
he  would  ever  take  it  to  be  the  road  to  happiness,  but 
would  wander  for  ever  seeking  this  object,  where  it  is 
not  to  be  found. 

The  road  of  duty  is  so  plain,  that  the  man  who  seeks 
it,  with  an  upright  heart,  cannot  greatly  err  from  it. 
But  the  road  to  happiness,  if  that  be  supposed  the  only 
end  our  nature  leads  us  to  pursue,  would  be  found 
dark  and  intricate,  full  of  snares  and  dangers,  and 
therefore  not  to  be  trodden  without  fear,  and  cai'e>  and 
perplexity. 


DEFECTS   OF   THIS  PRINCIPLE.  169 

The  happy  man  therefore  is  not  he  whose  happiness 
is  his  only  care,  but  he  who,  with  perfect  resignation, 
leaves  the  care  of  his  happiness  to  Him  who  made  him, 
while  he  pursues  with  ardour  the  road  of  his  duty. 

This  gives  an  elevation  to  his  mind,  which  is  real 
happiness.  Instead  of  care,  and  fear,  and  anxiety,  and 
disappointment,  it  brings  joy  and  triumph.  It  gives  a 
relish  to  every  good  we  enjoy,  and  brings  good  out  of 
evil. 

And  as  no  man  can  be  indifferent  about  his  happiness, 
the  good  man  has  the  consolation  to  know,  that  he  con- 
sults his  happiness  most  effectually,  when,  without  any 
painful  anxiety  about  future  events,  he  does  his  duty. 

Thus,  I  think,  it  appears,  that  although  a  regard  to 
our  good  upon  the  whole,  be  a  rational  principle  in  man, 
yet,  if  it  be  supposed  the  only  regulating  principle  of 
our  conduct,  it  would  be  a  more  uncertain  rule,  it  would 
give  far  less  perfection  to  the  human  character  and  far 
less  happiness,  than  when  joined  with  another  rational 
principle,  to  wit,  a  regard  to  duty. 


170  ESSA¥   III. 

CHAP.  V. 

OF  THE  NOTION  OF  DUTY,  RECTITUDE,  MORAL  OBLIGATION. 

A  BEING  endowed  with  the  animal  principles  of  ac- 
tion only,  may  be  capable  of  being  trained  to  certain 
purposes  by  discipline,  as  we  see  many  brute  animals 
are.  but  would  be  altogether  incapable  of  being  govern- 
ed by  law. 

The  subject  of  law  must  have  the  conception  of  a 
general  rule  of  conduct,  which,  without  some  degree  of 
reason,  he  cannot  have.  He  must  likewise  have  a  suf- 
ficient inducement  to  obey  the  law,  even  when  his 
strongest  animal  desires  draw  bim  <he  contrary  way. 

This  inducement  may  be  a  sense  of  interest,  or  a 
sense  of  duty,  or  bothconcurring. 

These  are  the  only  principles  I  am  able  to  conceive 
which  can  reasonably  induce  a  man  to  regulate  all  his 
actions  according  to  a  certain  general  rule,  or  law. 
They  may  therefore  be  justly  called  the  rational  princi- 
ples of  action,  since  they  can  have  no  place  but  in  a  be- 
ing endowed  with  reason,  and  since  it  is  by  them  only, 
that  man  is  capable  either  of  political  or  of  moral  gov- 
ernment. 

"Without  them,  human  life  would  be  like  a  ship  at 
sea  without  hands,  left  to  be  carried  by  winds  and  tides 
as  they  happen.  It  belongs  to  the  rational  part  of  our 
nature  to  intend  a  certain  port,  as  the  end  of  the  voyage 
of  life ;  to  take  the  advantage  of  winds  and  tides  when 
they  are  favourable,  and  to  bear  up  against  them  when 
they  are  unfavourable. 

A  sense  of  interest  may  induce  us  to  do  this,  when  a 
suitable  reward  is  set  before  us.  But  there  is  a  no- 
bler principle  in  the  constitution  of  man,  which,  in 
many  cases;  gives  a  dearer  and  more  certain  rule  of 


OF   THE   N0TI03T   OF   DUTY.  171 

conduct,  than  a  regard  merely  to  interest  would  give, 
and  a  principle,  without  which  man  would  not  be  a 
moral  agent. 

A  man  is  prudent  when  he  consults  his  real  inter- 
est, but  he  cannot  be  virtuous,  if  he  has  no  regard  to 
duty. 

I  proceed  now  to  consider  this  regard  to  duty  as  a 
rational  principle  of  action  in  man,  and  as  that  prin- 
ciple alone  by  which  he  is  capable  either  of  virtue  or 
vice. 

I  shall  first  offer  some  observations  with  regard  to 
the  general  notion  of  duty,  and  its  contrary,  or  of  right 
and  wrong  in  human  conduct ;  and  then  consider  how 
we  come  to  judge  and  determine  certain  things  in  hu- 
man conduct  to  be  right,  and  others  to  be  wrong. 

With  regard  to  the  notion  or  conception  of  duty,  I 
take  it  to  be  too  simple  to  admit  of  a  logical  defini- 
tion. 

We  can  define  it  only  by  synonymous  words  or  phras- 
es, or  by  its  properties  and  necessary  concomitants ; 
as  when  we  say  that  it  is  what  we  ought  to  do,  what  is 
fair  and  honest,  what  is  approvable,  what  evfery  man 
professes  to  be  the  rule  of  his  conduct,  what  all  men 
praise,  and  what  is  in  itself  laudable,  though  no  man 
should  praise  it. 

I  observe,  in  the  next  place,  that  the  notion  of  duty 
cannot  be  resolved  into  that  of  interest,  or  what  is  most 
for  our  happiness. 

Every  man  may  be  satisfied  of  this  who  attends  to 
his  own  conceptions,  and  the  language  of  all  mankind 
shows  it.  When  I  say  this  is  my  interest,  I  mean  one 
thing;  when  I  say  it  is  my  duty,  I  mean  another 
thing.  And  though  the  same  course  of  action,  when 
rightly  understood,  may  be  both  my  duty  and  my  in- 
terest, the  conceptions  are  very  different.  Both  are 
reasonable  motives  to  action,  but  quite  distinct  in  their 
nature. 


172  ESSAY    III. 

I  presume  it  will  be  granted,  that  iu  every  man  of 
real  worth,  there  is  a  prineiple  of  honor,  a  regard  to 
what  is  honorable  or  dislionorable,  very  distinct  from 
a  regard  to  his  interest.  It  is  folly  in  a  man  to  dis- 
regard bis  interest,  but  to  do  what  is  dishonorable  is 
baseness.  The  first  may  move  our  pity,  or,  in  some 
eases,  our  contempt,  but  the  last  provokes  our  indig- 
nation. 

As  these  two  principles  are  different  in  their  nature, 
and  not  resolvable  into  one,  so  the  principle  of  honor  is 
evidently  superior  in  dignity  to  that  of  interest. 

No  man  would  allow  him  to  be  a  man  of  honor, 
who  should  plead  his  interest  to  justify  what  he  ac- 
linowledged  to  be  dishonorable  ;  but  to  sacrifice  inter- 
est to  honor  never  costs  a  blush. 

It  likewise  will  be  allowed  by  every  man  of  honor, 
that  this  principle  is  not  to  be  resolved  into  a  regard 
to  our  reputation  among  men,  otherwise  the  man  of 
honor  would  not  deserve  to  be  trusted  in  the  dark. 
He  would  have  no  aversion  to  lie,  or  cheat,  or  play  the 
coward,  when  he  had  no  dread  of  being  discovered. 

I  take  it  for  granted,  therefore,  that  every  man  of 
real  honor  feels  an  abhorrence  of  certain  actions,  be- 
cause they  are  in  themselves  base,  and  feels  an  obliga- 
tion to  certain  other  actions,  because  they  are  in  them- 
selves what  honor  requires,  and  this,  independently  of 
any  consideration  of  interest  or  reputation. 

This  is  an  immediate  moral  obligation.  This  prin- 
ciple of  honor,  which  is  acknowledged  by  all  men  who 
pretend  to  character,  is  only  another  name  for  what  we 
call  a  regard  to  duty,  to  iicctitude,  to  propriety  of  con- 
duct. It  is  a  moral  obligation  which  obliges  a  man  to 
do  certain  things  because  they  are  right,  and  not  to  do 
other  things  because  they  are  wrong. 

Ask  the  man   of  honor,  why  he  thinks  himself 
obliged  to  pay  a  debt  of  honor  ?  The  yery  question 


OE   THE    NOTION   OF   DUTY,  i!7S 

shocks  him.  To  suppose  that  he  needs  any  other  in- 
ducement to  do  it  hut  the  principle  of  honor,  is  to  sup- 
pose that  he  has  no  honor,  no  ^vorlh,  and  deserves  no 
esteem. 

There  is  therefore  a  principle  in  man,  which,  when 
he  acts  according  to  it,  gives  him  a  consciousness  of 
worth,  and  when  he  acts  contrary  to  it,  a  sense  of  de- 
merit. 

From  the  varieties  of  education,  of  fashion,  of  prej- 
udices, and  of  habits,  men  may  differ  much  in  opinion 
wilh  regard  to  the  extent  of  this  principle,  and  of  what 
it  commands  and  forbids;  but  the  notion  of  it,  as 
far  as  it  is  carried,  is  the  same  in  all.  It  is  that  which 
gives  a  man  real  worth,  and  is  the  object  of  moral  ap- 
probation. 

Men  of  rank  call  it  honor,  and  too  often  confine  it 
to  certain  virtues  that  are  thought  most  essential  to 
their  rank.  The  vulgar  call  it  honesty ^  proMly,  virtue, 
conscience.  Philosophers  have  given  it  the  names  of 
the  moral  sense,  the  moral  faculty,  rectitude. 

The  universality  of  this  principle  in  men  that  are 
grown  up  to  years  of  understanding  and  reflection,  is 
evident.  The  words  that  express  it,  the  names  of  the 
virtues  vvhich  it  commands,  and  of  the  vices  which  it 
forbids,  the  ought  and  ought  not  which  express  its  dic- 
tates, make  an  essential  part  of  every  language.  The 
natural  affections  of  respect  to  worthy  characters,  of 
resentment  of  injuries,  of  gratitude  for  favours,  of  in- 
dignation against  the  worthless,  are  parts  of  the  hu- 
man constitution  which  suppose  a  right  and  a  wrong 
in  conduct.  Many  transactions  that  are  found  necessa- 
ry in  the  rudest  societies  go  upon  the  same  supposition. 
In  all  testimony,  in  all  promises,  and  in  all  contracts, 
there  is  necessarily  implied  a  moral  obligation  on  one 
party,  and  a  trust  in  the  other,  grounded  upon  this  ob- 
ligation. 

VOL.  IV.  23 


174  ESSAY   III. 

The  variety  of  opinions  among  men  in  points  of  mO' 
rality,  is  not  greater,  but^  as  I  apprehend,  much  less 
than  in  speculative  points  ;  and  this  variety  is  as  easi- 
ly accounted  for,  from  the  common  causes  of  error,  in  the 
one  case  as  in  the  other ;  so  that  it  is  not  more  evident, 
that  there  is  a  real  distinction  between  true  and  false,  in 
matters  of  speculation,  than  that  there  is  a  real  distinc- 
tion between  right  and  wrong  in  human  conduct. 

Mr.  Hume's  authority,  if  there  were  any  need  of  it, 
is  of  weight  in  this  matter,  because  he  was  not  wont  to 
go  rashly  into  vulgar  opinions. 

*'  Those,"  says  he,  •«  who  have  denied  the  reality  of 
moral  distinctions,  may  be  ranked  among  the  disingen- 
uous disputants,  who  really  do  not  believe  (he  opinions 
they  defend,  but  engage  in  the  controversy  from  affec- 
tation, from  a  spirit  of  opposition,  or  from  a  desire  of 
showing  wit  and  ingenuity  superior  to  the  rest  of  man- 
kind ;  nor  is  it  conceivable,  that  any  human  creature 
could  ever  seriously  believe,  that  all  characters  and  ac- 
tions were  alike  entitled  to  the  regard  and  affection  of 
every  one. 

*«  Let  a  man's  iusensibility  be  ever  so  great,  he  must 
often  be  touched  with  the  images  of  right  and  wrong; 
and  let  his  prejudices  be  ever  so  obstinate,  he  must  ob- 
serve that  others  are  susceptible  of  like  impressions. 
The  only  way,  therefore,  of  convincing  an  antagonist  of 
this  kind  is  to  leave  him  to  himself.  For,  finding  that 
nobody  keeps  up  the  controversy  with  him,  it  is  proba- 
ble he  will  at  last,  of  himself,  from  mere  weariness, 
come  over  to  the  side  of  common  sense  and  reason." 

What  we  call  right  and  honorahJe  in  human  conduct, 
was,  by  the  ancients,  called  honestum,  to  kuAov;  of 
which  TuUy  says,  ♦♦  Quod  vere  dicimus,  etiamsi  a  nul- 
lo  laudetur,  natura  esse  laudabile." 

AH  the  ancient  sects,  except  the  Epicureans,  distin- 
guished the  honeslnm  from  the  utile,  as  we  distinguish 
>Yhat  is  a  man's  duty  from  what  is  his  interest. 


OF   THE    NOTION"   OF  DUTY.  l^S 

The  word  afficium,  rx^yfKov,  extended  both  to  the  ho- 
nestum?Lnii  the  utile:  so  that  every  reasonable  action, 
proceeding  either  from  a  sense  of  duty  or  a  sense  of  in- 
terest, was  called  afficium.  It  is  defined  by  Cicero  to 
be,  **  Id  quod  cur  factum  sit  ratio  probabilis  reddi  po- 
test." We  commonly  render  it  by  the  word  duty,  but 
it  is  more  extensive ;  for  the  word  duty,  in  the  English 
language,  I  think,  is  commonly  applied  only  to  what 
the  ancients  called  honestum.  Cicero,  and  Pansetius 
before  him,  treating  of  oflSces,  first  point  out  those  that 
are  grounded  upon  the  honestunif  and  next  those  that 
are  grounded  upon  the  utile. 

The  most  ancient  philosophical  system  concerning 
the  principles  of  action  in  the  human  mind,  and,  I  think, 
the  most  agreeable  to  nature,  is  that  which  we  find  in 
some  fragments  of  the  ancient  Pythagoreans,  and  which 
is  adopled  by  Plato^  and  explained  in  some  of  his  dia- 
logues. 

According  to  this  system,  there  is  a  leading  principle 
in  the  soul,  which,  like  the  supreme  power  in  a  com- 
monwealth, has  authority  and  right  to  govern.  This 
leading  principle  they  called  reason.  It  is  that  which 
distinguishes  men  that  are  adult  from  brutes,  idiots,  and 
infants.  The  inferior  principles,  which  are  under  the 
authority  of  the  leading  principle,  are  our  passions  and 
appetites,  which  we  have  in  common  with  the  brutes. 

Cicero  adopts  this  system,  and  expresses  it  well  in 
few  words.  '*  Duplex  enim  est  vis  animorum  atque 
naturse.  Una  pars  in  appetitu  posita  est,  quse  homi- 
neni  hue  et  illuc  rapit,  quse  est  'o^,w>7  gra^ce,  altera  in 
ratione,  quse  docet,  et  explanat  quid  faciendum  fugien- 
dumve  sit.  Ita  fit  ut  ratio  prsesit  appetitus  obtempe- 
ret." 

This  division  of  our  active  principles  can  hardly  in- 
deed be  accounted  a  discovery  of  philosophy,  because 
it  has  been  common  to  the  unlearned  in  all  ages  of  the 


176  ESSAY  iir, 

world,  and  seems  to  be  dictated  by  the  common  sense 
of  mankind. 

"What  I  would  now  observe  concerning  this  com- 
mon division  of  our  active  powers,  is,  that  the  leading 
principle,  which  is  called  reasoiif  comprehends  both  a 
regard  to  what  is  right  and  honorable,  aiid  a  regard  to 
our  happiness  upon  the  whole. 

Although  these  be  really  two  distinct  principles  of 
action,  it  is  very  natural  to  comprehend  them  under  one 
name,  because  both  arc  leading  principles,  both  sup* 
pose  the  use  of  reason,  and,  when  rightly  understood, 
both  lead  to  the  same  course  of  life.  They  are  like 
two  fountains  whose  streams  unite  and  run  in  the  same 
channel. 

When  a  man,  on  one  occasion,  consults  his  real  hap- 
piness in  things  not  inconsistent  with  his  duty,  though 
in  opposition  to  the  solicitation  of  appetite  or  passion ; 
and  when,  on  another  occasion,  without  any  selfish  con- 
sideration, he  does  what  is  right  and  honorable,  be- 
cause it  is  so ;  in  both  these  cases  he  acts  reasonably  ; 
every  man  approves  of  his  conduct,  and  calls  it  reason- 
able, or  according  to  reason. 

So  that,  when  we  speak  of  reason  as  a  principle  of 
action  in  man,  it  includes  a  regard  both  to  the  honest- 
iim  and  to  the  utile.  Both  are  combined  under  one 
name ;  and  accordingly,  the  dictates  of  both,  in  the 
Latin  tongue,  were  combined  under  the  name  afficium, 
and  in  the  Greek  under  Koc^yfKov, 

If  we  examine  the  abstract  notion  of  duty,  or  moral 
obligation,  it  appears  to  be  neither  any  real  quality  of 
the  action  considered  by  itself,  nor  of  the  agent  consid^ 
crcd  without  respect  to  the  action,  but  a  certain  rela- 
tion between  the  one  and  the  other. 

When  we  say  a  man  ought  to  do  such  a  thing,  the 
ought,  which  expresses  the  moral  obligation,  has  a  re- 
spect, on  the  one  hand,  to  the  person  who  ought,  and, 


or   THE    NOTION   OF   DUTY.  ITT 

on  the  other,  to  the  action  which  he  ought  to  do. 
Those  two  correlates  are  essential  to  every  moral  ob- 
ligation ;  take  away  either,  and  it  has  no  existence.  So 
that,  if  we  seek  the  place  of  moral  obligation  among 
the  categories,  it  belongs  to  the  category  of  relation. 

There  are  many  relations  of  things,  of  which  we 
have  the  most  distinct  conception,  without  being  able 
to  define  them  logically.  Equality  and  proportion  are 
relations  between  quantities,  which  every  man  under- 
stands, but  no  man  can  define. 

Moral  obligation  is  a  relation  of  its  own  kind,  which 
every  man  understands,  but  is  perhaps  too  simple  to 
admit  of  logical  definition.  Like  all  other  relations,  it 
may  be  changed  or  annihilated  by  a  change  in  any  of 
the  two  related  things,  I  mean  the  agent  or  the  action. 

Perhaps  it  may  not  be  improper  to  point  out  briefly 
the  circumstances,  both  in  the  action  and  in  the  agent, 
which  are  necessary  to  constitute  moral  obligation. 
The  universal  agreement  of  men  in  these,  shows  that 
they  have  one  and  the  same  notion  of  it. 

With  regard  to  the  action,  it  must  be  a  voluntary  ac- 
tion, or  prestation  of  the  person  obliged,  and  not  of 
another.  There  can  be  no  moral  obligation  upon  a 
man  to  be  six  feet  high.  Nor  can  I  be  under  a  moral 
obligation  that  another  person  sliould  do  such  a  thing. 
His  actions  must  be  imputed  to  himself,  and  mine  only 
to  me,  either  for  praise  or  blame. 

I  need  hardly  mention,  that  a  person  can  be  under  a 
moral  obligation,  only  to  things  within  the  sphere  of 
his  natural  power.    [Note  X.] 

As  to  the  party  obliged  it  is  evident,  there  can  be  no 
moral  obligation  upon  an  inanimate  thing.  To  speak 
of  moral  obligation  upon  a  stone  or  a  tree  is  ridiculous, 
because  it  contradicts  every  man's  notion  of  moral  obli- 
gation. 

The  person  obliged  must  have  understanding  and 
will,  and  some  degree  of  active  power.    He  must  not 


178  ESSAY  III. 

only  have  the  natural  faculty  of  understanding,  but 
the  means  of  knowing  his  obligation.  An  invincible 
ignorance  of  this  destroys  all  moral  obligation. 

The  opinion  of  the  agent  in  doing  the  action  gives 
it  its  moral  denomination.  If  he  does  a  materially 
good  action,  without  any  belief  of  its  being  good,  but 
from  some  other  principle,  it  is  no  good  action  in  him. 
And  if  he  does  it  with  the  belief  of  its  being  ill,  it  is  ill 
in  him. 

Thus,  if  a  man  should  give  to  his  neighbour  a  po- 
tion which  he  really  believes  will  poison  him,  but 
which,  in  the  event,  proves  salutary,  and  does  much 
good ;  in  moral  estimation,  he  is  a  poisoner,  and  not  a 
benefactor. 

These  qualifications  of  the  action  and  of  the  agent, 
in  moral  obligation,  are  self-evident ;  and  the  agree- 
ment of  all  men  in  them  shows,  that  all  men  have  the 
same  notion;  and  a  distinct  notion  of  moral  obligation. 


OF  THE    SENSE   OF  DUTY.  179 

CHAP.  VI. 

OF   THE    SENSE    OF   DUTY. 

We  are  next  to  consider,  how  we  learn  to  judge  and 
determine,  that  this  is  right,  and  that  is  wrong. 

The  abstract  notion  of  moral  good  and  ill  would  he 
of  no  use  to  direct  our  life,  if  we  had  not  the  power  of 
applying  it  to  particular  actions,  and  determining  what 
is  morallj'  good,  and  what  is  morally  ill. 

Some  philosophers,  with  whom  I  agree,  ascribe  this 
to  an  original  power  or  faculty  in  man,  which  they  call 
the  moral  sense,  the  moral  faculty  >  conscience.  Others 
think,  that  our  moral  sentiments  may  be  accounted  for 
without  supposing  any  original  sense  or  faculty  appro- 
priated to  that  purpose,  and  go  into  very  dijfferent  sys- 
tems to  account  for  them. 

I  am  not,  at  present,  to  take  any  notice  of  those  sys- 
tems, because  the  opinion  first  mentioned  seems  to  me 
to  be  the  truth,  to  wit,  that,  by  an  original  power  of 
the  mind,  when  we  come  to  years  of  understanding  and 
reflection,  we  not  only  have  the  notions  of  right  and 
wrong  in  conduct,  but  perceive  certain  things  to  be 
right,  and  others  to  be  wrong. 

The  name  of  the  moral  sense,  though  more  frequent- 
ly given  to  conscience  since  lord  Shaftesbury  and  Dr. 
Hutcheson  wrote,  is  not  new.  The  sensus  recti  et  ho- 
nesti  is  a  phrase  not  unfrequent  among  the  ancients, 
neither  is  the  sense  of  duty  among  us. 

It  has  got  this  name  of  sense,  no  doubt,  from  some 
analogy  which  it  is  conceived  to  bear  to  the  external 
senses.  And  if  we  have  just  notions  of  the  office  of 
the  external  senses,  the  analogy  is  very  evident,  and  I 
see  no  reason  to  take  offence,  as  some  have  done,  at  the 
name  of  the  moral  sense. 

The  offence  taken  at  this  name  seems  to  be  owing  to 
this,  that  philosophers  have  degraded  the  senses  too 


180  £SSAT   111. 

luucli^  aiul  deprived  them  of  the  most  important  part 
of  their  office. 

We  are  taught,  that  by  the  senses,  we  have  only  cer- 
tain ideas  which  we  could  not  have  otherwise.  They  are 
represented  as  powers  by  wliich  we  have  sensations  and 
ideas,  not  as  powers  by  which  we  judge. 

This  notion  of  the  senses  I  take  to  be  very  lame,  and 
to  contradict  what  nature  and  accurate  reflection  teach 
concerning  them,  • 

A  man  who  has  totally  lost  the  sense  of  seeing,  may 
retain  very  distinct  notions  of  the  various  colours  ;  but 
he  cannot  judge  of  colours,  because  he  has  lost  the 
sense  by  which  alone  he  could  judge.  By  my  eyes  I 
not  only  have  the  ideas  of  a  square  and  a  circle,  but  I 
perceive  this  surface  to  be  a  square,  that  to  be  a  circle. 

By  my  ear,  I  not  only  have  the  idea  of  sounds,  loud 
and  soft,  acute  and  grave,  but  I  immediately  perceive 
and  judge  this  sound  to  be  loud,  that  to  be  soft,  this  to 
be  acute,  that  to  be  grave.  Two  or  more  synchronous 
sounds  I  perceive  to  be  concordant,  others  to  be  dis- 
cordant. 

These  are  judgments  of  the  senses.  They  have  al- 
ways been  called  and  accounted  such,  by  those  whose 
muids  are  not  tinctured  by  philosophical  theories.  They 
are  the  immediate  testimony  of  nature  by  our  senses ; 
and  we  are  so  constituted  by  nature,  that  we  must 
receive  their  testimony,  for  no  other  reason  but  because 
it  is  given  by  our  senses. 

In  vain  do  skeptics  endeavour  to  overturn  this  evi- 
dence by  metaphysical  reasoning.  Though  we  should 
not  be  able  to  answer  their  arguments,  we  believe  our 
senses  still,  and  rest  our  most  important  concerns  upon 
their  testimony. 

If  this  be  a  just  notion  of  our  external  senses,  as  I 
conceive  it  is,  our  moral  faculty  may,  I  think,  without 
impropriety,  be  called  the  moral  sense. 

In  its  dignity  it  is,  without  doubt,  far  superior  to  every 
other  power  of  the  mind }  but  there  is  this  analogy  be- 


OF   THE    SENSE    OF    DUTY.  181 

tween  it  and  the  exterri'al  senses,  that,  as  by  them  we 
have  not  only  the  original  conceptions  of  the  various 
qualities  of  bodies,  but  the  original  judgments  that  this 
body  has  such  a  quality,  that  such  another;  so  by  oup 
moral  faculty,  ve  have  both  the  original  conceptions 
of  right  and  wrong  in  conduct,  of  merit  and  demerit, 
and  the  original  judgments  that  this  conduct  is  right, 
that  is  wrong  ;  that  this  character  has  worth,  that,  de- 
merit. 

The  testimony  of  our  moral  faculty,  like  that  of  the 
external  senses,  is  the  testimony  of  nature,  and  wehav© 
the  same  reason  to  rely  upon  it. 

The  truths  immediately  testified  by  the  external 
senses  are  the  first  principles  from  vhich  we  reason, 
with  regard  to  the  material  world,  and  from  which  all 
our  knowledge  of  it  is  deduced. 

The  truths  immediately  testified  by  our  moral  facul- 
ty, are  the  first  principles  of  all  moral  reasoning,  from 
which  all  our  knowledge  of  our  duty  must  be  deduced. 
[Note  Y.] 

By  moral  reasoning,  I  understand  all  reasoning  that 
is  brought  to  prove  that  such  conduct  is  right,  and 
deserving  of  moral  approbation,  or  that  it  is  wrong,  or 
that  it  is  indifferent,  and,  in  itself,  neither  morally  good 
nor  ill. 

I  think  all  we  can  properly  call  moral  judgments 
are  reducible  to  one  or  other  of  these,  as  all  human 
actions,  considered  in  a  moral  view,  are  either  good,  or 
bad,  OP  indifferent. 

I  know  the  term  moral  reasoning  is  often  used  by 
good  writers  in  a  more  extensive  sense  ;  but  as  the 
reasoning  I  now  speak  of  is  of  a  peculiar  kind,  distinct 
from  all  others,  and  therefore  ought  to  have  a  distinct 
name,  I  take  the  liberty  to  limit  the  name  of  moral  rea- 
soning to  this  kiad. 

VOL.  IV.  3* 


182  ESSAY   III. 

Let  it  be  understood  therefore,  that  in  the  reasoning 
I  call  moral,  the  conclusion  always  is,  that  something 
in  the  conduct  of  moral  agents  is  good  or  bad  in  a  great- 
er or  a  less  degree,  or  indifferent. 

All  reasoning  must  be  grounded  on  first  principles. 
This  holds  in  moral  reasoning,  as  in  all  other  kinds. 
There  must  therefore  be  in  morals,  as  in  all  other 
sciences,  first  or  self-evident  principles,  on  which  all 
moral  reasoning  is  grounded,  and  on  which  it  ultimate- 
ly rests.  From  such  self-evident  principles,  conclu- 
sions may  be  drawn  synthetically  with  regard  to  the 
moral  conduct  of  life  j  and  particular  duties  or  virtues 
may  be  traced  back  to  such  principles,  analytically. 
But,  without  such  principles,  we  can  no  more  establish 
any  conclusion  in  morals,  than  we  can  build  a  castle  in 
the  air,  without  any  foundation. 

An  example  or  two  will  serve  to  illustrate  this. 

It  is  a  first  principle  in  morals,  that  we  ought  not  to 
do  to  another,  what  we  should  think  wrong  to  be  done 
to  us  in  like  circumstances.  If  a  man  is  not  capable 
of  perceivng  this  in  his  cool  moments,  when  he  reflects 
seriously,  he  is  not  a  moral  agent,  nor  is  he  capable  of 
being  convinced  of  it  by  reasoning. 

From  what  topic  can  you  reason  with  such  a  man  I 
You  may  possibly  convince  him  by  reasoning,  that  it  is 
his  interest  to  observe  this  rule ;  but  this  is  not  to  con- 
vince him  that  it  is  his  duty.  To  reason  about  justice 
with  a  man  who  sees  nothing  to  be  just  or  unjust;  or 
about  benevolence  with  a  man  who  sees  nothing  in  be- 
nevolence preferable  to  malice,  is  like  reasoning  with  a 
blind  man  about  colour,  or  \Yith  a  deaf  man  about  sound. 

It  is  a  question  in  morals  that  admits  of  reasoning, 
whether,  by  the  law  of  nature,  a  man  ought  to  have 
only  one  wife  ? 

AVe  reason  upon  this  question,  by  balancing  the  ad- 
vantages and  disadvantages  to  the  family,  and  to  soci' 


OF   THE    SENSE   OF   DUTY.  183 

ciy  in  general,  that  are  naturally  consequent  both  upon 
monogamy  and  polygamy,  And  if  it  can  be  shown  that 
the  advantages  are  greatly  upon  the  side  of  monogamy, 
we  think  the  point  is  determined. 

But,  if  a  man  does  not  perceive  that  he  ought  to  re- 
gard the  good  of  society,  and  the  good  of  his  wife  and 
children,  the  reasoning  can  have  no  effect  upon  him,  be- 
cause he  denies  the  first  principles  upon  which  it  is 
grounded. 

Suppose  again,  that  we  reason  for  monogamy  from 
the  intention  of  nature,  discovered  by  the  proportion  of 
males  and  of  females  that  are  born,*  a  proportion 
which  corresponds  perfectly  with  monogamy,  but  by  no 
means  with  polygamy.  This  argument  can  have  no 
weight  with  a  man  who  does  not  perceive  that  he  ought 
to  have  a  regard  to  the  intention  of  nature. 

Thus  we  shall  find  that  all  moral  I'casonings  rest 
upon  one  or  more  first  principles  of  morals,  whose  truth 
is  immediately  perceived  without  reasoning,  by  all  men 
come  to  years  of  understanding. 

And  this  indeed  is  common  to  every  branch  of  human 
knowledge  that  deserves  the  name  of  science.  There 
must  be  first  principles  proper  to  that  science,  by 
which  the  whole  superstructure  is  supported. 

The  first  principles  of  all  the  sciences,  must  be  the 
immediate  dictates  of  our  natural  faculties  j  nor  is  it 
possible  that  we  should  have  any  other  evidence  of 
their  truth.  And  in  different  sciences  the  faculties 
which  dictate  their  first  principles  are  very  different. 

Thus,  in  astronomy  and  in  optics,  in  which  such  won- 
derful discoveries  have  been  made,  that  the  unlearned 
can  hardly  believe  them  to  be  within  the  reach  of  hu- 
man capacity,  the  first  principles  are  phenomena,  at- 
tested solely  by  that  little  organ,  the  human  eye.  If  we 
disbelieve  its  report,  the  whole  of  those  two  noble  fabrics 
of  science  falls  to  pieces  like  the  visions  of  the  night. 


184  ESSAY  III. 

The  principles  of  music  all  depend  upon  the  testimo- 
ny of  the  ear.  The  principles  of  natural  philosophy^ 
upon  the  fttcts  attested  by  the  senses.  The  principles 
ofmalhemalics.  upon  the  necessary  relations  of  quan- 
tifies  eoiisidered  abstractly,  such  as,  that  equal  quanti- 
ties added  to  equal  quantities  make  equal  sums,  and 
the  like ;  which  necessary  relations  are  immediately 
perceived  by  the  understanding. 

The  science  of  politics  borrows  its  principles  from 
what  we  know  by  experience  of  the  character  and  con- 
duct of  man.  We  consider  not  what  he  ought  to  be, 
but  what  he  is,  and  thence  conclude  what  part  he  will 
act  in  different  situations  and  circumstances.  From 
such  principles  we  reason  concerning  the  causes  and 
effects  of  different  forms  of  government,  laws,  customs, 
and  manners.  If  man  were  either  a  mare  perfect  or  a 
more  imperfect,  a  better  or  a  worse  creature  than  he  is, 
politics  would  be  a  different  science  from  what  it  is. 

The  first  principles  of  morals  are  the  immediate  dic- 
tates of  the  moral  faculty.  They  show  us,  not  what 
man  is,  but  what  he  ought  to  be.  "Whatever  is  imme- 
diately perceived  to  be  just,  honest,  and  honorable,  in 
human  conduct,  carries  moral  obligation  along  with  it, 
and  the  contrary  carries  demerit  and  blame ;  and,  from 
those  moral  obligations  that  are  immediately  perceived, 
all  other  moral  obligations  must  be  deduced  by  reason- 
ing. 

He  that  will  judge  of  the  colour  of  an  object,  must 
consult  his  eyes,  in  a  good  light,  when  there  is  no  me- 
dium or  contiguous  ob  ects  that  may  give  it  a  false 
tinge.  But  in  vain  will  he  consult  every  other  faculty 
in  this  matter. 

In  like  manner,  he  that  will  judge  of  the  first  princi- 
ples of  morals,  must  consult  his  conscience,  or  moral 
faculty,  when  he  is  calm  and  dispassionate,  unbiassed 
by  interest,  afiection,  or  fashion. 


OF  THE    SEIVSE    OF  DUTY.  ±9S 

As  we  rely  upon  ihe  clear  and  distinct  testimony  of 
our  eyes,  eoneeriiing  the  colours  and  (igures  of  the 
bodies  ahout  us,  we  have  the  same  reason  to  rely  with 
security  upon  the  clear  and  unbiassed  testimony  of  our 
conscience,  with  regard  to  what  ve  ought,  and  ought 
not  to  do.  In  many  cases,  moral  worth  and  demerit 
are  discerned  no  less  clearly  by  the  last  of  those  natural 
faculties,  than  figure  and  colour  by  the  first. 

The  faculties  which  nature  has  given  us,  are  the 
only  engines  we  can  use  to  fiod  out  the  truth.  We 
cannot  indeed  prove  that  those  faculties  are  not  falla- 
cious, unless  Gcd  should  give  us  new  faculties  to  sit  ia 
judgment  upon  the  old.  But  we  are  born  under  a  ne- 
cessity of  trusiing  them. 

Fvery  man  in  his  senses  believes  his  eyes,  his  ears, 
ard  hi»  other  senses.  Be  believes  his  consciousness, 
with  respect  to  his  own  thoughts  and  purposes,  his 
memory,  with  regard  to  what  is  past,  his  understand- 
ing, wiih  regard  to  abstract  relations  of  things,  and  his 
taste,  with  regard  to  what  is  elegant  and  beautiful. 
And  he  has  the  same  reason,  and,  indeed,  is  under  the 
same  necessity  of  believing  the  clear  and  unbiassed  dic- 
tates of  his  conscience,  with  regard  to  what  is  honora- 
ble and  what  is  base. 

(The  sura  of  what  has  been  said  in  this  chapter  is. 
That,  by  an  original  power  of  the  mind,  which  we  call 
conscience^  or  the  moral  faculty ,  we  have  the  concep- 
tions of  right  and  wrong  in  human  conduct,  of  merit 
and  demerit,  of  duty  and  moral  obligation,  and  our 
other  moral  conceptions  ;  and  that,  by  the  same  faculty, 
we  perceive  some  things  in  human  conduct  to  be  right, 
and  others  to  be  wrong;  that  the  first  principles  of 
morals  are  the  dictates  of  this  faculty  ;  and  that  we 
have  the  same  reason  to  rely  upon  those  dictates,  as 
upon  the  determinations  of  our  senses,  or  of  our  other 
natural  faculties.) 


186  KSSAY  III. 

CHAP.  VII. 

OF  MORAL  APPROBATIOSr   AND    DISAPPROBATIOxV. 

Our  moral  judgments  are  not,  like  those  we  form  in 
speculative  matters,  dry  and  unaffecting,  but  from  their 
nature,  are  necessarily  accompanied  with  aSuctions  and 
feelings;  which  we  arc  now  to  consider. 

It  was  before  observed,  that  every  human  action, 
considered  in  a  moral  view,  appears  to  us  good,  or  bad, 
or  indifferent.  When  we  judge  the  action  to  be  indif- 
ferent, neither  good  nor  bad,  though  this  be  a  moral 
judgment,  it  produces  no  affection  nor  feeling,  any 
more  than  our  judgments  in  speculative  matters. 

But  we  approve  of  good  actions,  and  disapprove  of 
bad  }  and  this  approbation  and  disapprobation,  when 
Vfe  annalyze  it,  appears  to  inuhule,  not  only  a  moral 
judgment  of  the  action,  but  some  affection,  favourable 
or  unfavourable,  toward  the  agent,  and  some  feeling  in 
ourselves. 

Nothing  is  more  evident  than  this,  that  moral  worth, 
even  in  a  stranger,  with  whom  we  have  not  the  least 
connection,  never  fails  to  produce  some  degree  of  es- 
teem mixed  with  good  will. 

The  esteem  which  we  have  for  a  man  on  account  of 
his  moral  worth,  is  different  from  that  which  is  ground- 
ed upon  his  intellectual  accomplishments,  his  birth> 
fortune,  and  connection  with  us. 

Moral  worth,  when  it  is  not  set  off  by  eminent  abili- 
ties, and  external  advantages,  is  like  a  diamond  in  the 
mine,  which  is  rough  and  unpolished,  and  perhaps 
crusted  over  with  some  baser  material  that  takes  away 
its  lustre. 

But,  when  it  is  attended  with  these  advantages,  it  is 
like  a  diamond  cut,  polished,  and  set.    Then  its  lustre 


OF  MORAI  APPROBATION.  ±gf 

attracts  every  eye.  Yet  these  things  which  add  so 
much  to  its  appearance,  add  but  little  to  its  real  value. 

We  must  further  observe,  that  esteem  and  benevo- 
lent regard,  not  only  accompany  real  worth  by  the  con- 
stitution of  our  nature,  but  are  perceived  to  be  really 
and  properly  due  to  it ;  and  that,  on  the  contrary,  un- 
worthy conduct  really  merits  dislike  and  indignation. 

There  is  no  judgment  of  the  heart  of  man  more  cleart 
or  more  irresistible,  than  this,  that  esteem  and  regard 
are  really  due  to  good  conduct,  and  the  contrary  to 
base  and  unworthy  conduct.  Nor  can  we  conceive  a 
greater  depravity  in  the  heart  of  man,  than  it  would 
be  to  see  and  acknowledge  worth  without  feeling  any 
respect  to  it  j  or  to  see  and  acknowledge  the  highest 
worthlessness  without  any  degree  of  dislike  and  indig- 
nation. 

The  esteem  that  is  due  to  worthy  conduct,  is  not  les- 
sened when  a  man  is  conscious  of  it  in  himself.  Nor 
can  he  help  having  some  esteem  for  himself,  when  he 
is  conscious  of  those  qualities  for  which  he  most  highljf 
esteems  others. 

Self-esteem,  grounded  upon  external  advantages,  ov 
the  gifts  of  fortune,  is  pride.  When  it  is  grounded 
upon  a  vain  conceit  of  inward  worth  which  we  do  not 
possess,  it  is  arrogance  and  self-deceit.  But  when  a 
man,  without  thinking  of  himself  more  highly  than  he 
ought  to  think,  is  conscious  of  that  integrity  of  heart 
and  uprightness  of  conduct,  which  he  most  highly  es- 
teems in  others,  and  values  himself  duly  upon  this  ac- 
count ;  this  perhaps  may  be  called  the  pride  of  virtue> 
but  it  is  not  a  vicious  pride.  It  is  a  noble  and  mag- 
nanimous disposition,  without  which  there  can  be  no 
steady  virtue. 

A  man  who  has  a  character  with  himself,  which  he 
values,  will  disdain  to  act  in  a  manner  unworthy  of  it. 
The  language  of  his  heart  will  be  like  that  of  Job. 


dkMt  ESSi^Y   III. 

<'  My  righteousness  I  hold  fast,  and  will  not  let  it  goj 
my  heart  shall  not  reproach  me  while  I  live." 

A  good  man  owes  much  to  his  character  with  the 
vorld,  and  will  be  concerned  to  vindicate  it  from  un- 
just imputations.  But  he  owes  much  more  to  his  char- 
acter wifh  himself.  For  if  liis  heart  condemns  liim 
not,  he  has  confidence  toward  God  ;  and  he  can  more 
easil.v  bear  the  lash  of  tongues  than  the  reproach  of  his 
own  mind. 

The  sense  of  honor,  so  much  spoken  of  and  so  oftea 
misapplied,  is  nothing  eKe,  when  righily  under^;food» 
but  the  disdain  which  a  man  of  worth  fet'ls  to  do  a  dis- 
honorable action,  though  it  should  never  be  known  nor 
suspected. 

A  good  man  will  have  a  much  greater  abhorrence 
against  doing  a  bad  action,  than  even  against  having  it 
unjustly  imputed  to  him.  The  last  may  give  a  wound 
to  his  reputation,  hut  the  first  gives  a  wound  to  his 
conscience,  which  is  more  difficult  to  heal,  and  more 
painful  to  endure. 

liCt  us.  on  the  other  hand,  consider  how  we  are  af- 
fected by  disapprobation,  either  of  the  conduct  of  others, 
or  of  onr  own. 

Evei\v  thing  we  disapprove  in  the  conduct  of  a  man, 
lessens  him  in  our  esteem-  There  are  indeed  brilliant 
faults,  which,  having  a  mixture  of  good  and  ill  in  them, 
may  have  a  very  different  aspect,  according  to  the  side 
on  which  we  view  them. 

In  such  faults  of  our  friends,  and  much  more  of  our- 
selves, we  are  disposed  to  view  them  on  the  best  side, 
and  on  the  contrary  side  in  those  to  whom  we  are  ill 
afTecied. 

This  partiality,  in  taking  things  1)y  the  best  or  by 
the  worst  handle,  is  the  chief  cause  of  wrong  judg- 
ment with  regard  to  the  character  of  othersi  and  of 
self-deeeit  with  regard  to  our  own. 


«P   MORAL   APPROBATION.  189 

But  when  we  take  complex  actions  to  pieces,  and 
view  every  part  by  itself,  ill  conduct  of  every  kind  les- 
sens our  esteem  of  a  man,  as  much  as  good  conduct 
increases  it.  It  is  apt  to  turn  love  into  indifference, 
indifference  into  contempt,  and  contempt  into  aversion 
and  abhorrence. 

When  a  man  is  conscious  of  immoral  conduct  in  him- 
self, it  lessens  his  self-esteem.  It  depresses  and  hum- 
bles his  spirit,  and  makes  his  countenance  to  fall.  He 
could  even  punish  himself  for  his  misbehaviour,  if  that 
could  wipe  out  the  stain.  There  is  a  sense  of  dishonor 
and  worthlessness  arising  from  guilt,  as  well  as  a  sense 
of  honor  and  worth  arising  from  worthy  conduct.  And 
this  is  the  case,  even  if  a  man  could  conceal  his  guilt 
from  all  the  world. 

We  are  next  to  consider  the  agreeable  or  uneasy 
feelings,  in  the  breast  of  the  spectator  or  judge,  which 
naturally  accompany  moral  approbation  and  disappro- 
bation. 

There  is  no  affection  that  is  not  accompanied  with 
some  agreeable  or  uneasy  emotion.  It  has  often  been 
observed,  that  all  the  benevolent  affections  give  pleas- 
ure, and  the  contrary  ones  pain,  in  one  degree  or 
another. 

When  we  contemplate  a  noble  character,  though 
but  in  ancient  history,  or  even  in  fiction  ;  like  a  beau- 
tiful object,  it  gives  a  lively  and  pleasant  emotion  to 
the  spirit  So  It  warms  the  heart,  and  invigorates  the 
whole  frame.  Like  the  beams  of  the  sun,  it  enlivens 
the  face  of  nature,  and  diffuses  heat  and  light  all  around. 

We  feel  a  sympathy  with  every  noble  and  worthy 
character  that  is  represented  to  us.  W"e  rejoice  in  his 
prosperity,  we  are  afflicted  in  his  distress.  We  even 
catch  some  sparks  of  that  celestial  fire  that  animated 
his  conduct,  and  feel  the  glow  of  his  virtue  and  mag- 
nanimity. 

VOL.  IV.  as 


190  ESSAY   III. 

This  sympathy  is  the  necessary  effect  of  our  jutlg- 
inent  of  his  conduct,  and  of  the  approhation  and  es- 
teem due  to  it;  for  real  sympathy  is  always  the  effect 
of  some  benevolent  affection^  such  as  esteem,  love,  pity> 
or  humanity. 

TViien  the  person  whom  we  approve  is  connected 
with  us  by  acquaintance,  friendship,  or  blood,  the 
pleasure  we  derive  from  his  conduct  is  greatly  increas* 
ed.  We  claim  some  property  in  his  worth,  and  '^ro 
apt  to  value  ourselves  on  account  of  it.  This  shows  a 
stronger  degree  of  sympathyi  which  gathers  strength 
from  every  social  tie. 

But  the  highest  pleasure  of  all  is,  when  we  are  con- 
scious of  good  conduct  in  ourselves.  This,  in  sacred 
scripture,  is  called  the  testimony  of  a  good  conscience; 
and  it  is  represented,  not  only  in  the  sacred  writings, 
but  in  the  writings  of  all  moralists,  of  every  age  and 
seet,  as  the  purest,  the  most  noble  and  valuable  of  all 
human  enjoyments. 

Surely,  were  we  to  place  the  chief  happiness  of  this 
life,  a  thing  that  has  been  so  much  sought  after,  in  any 
one  kind  of  enjoyment,  that  which  arises  from  the  con- 
sciousness of  integrity,  and  a  uniform  endeavour  to  act 
the  best  part  in  our  station,  would  most  justly  claim 
the  preference  to  all  other  enjoyments  the  human  mind 
is  capable  of,  on  account  of  its  dignity,  the  intenseness 
of  the  happiness  it  affords,  its  stability  and  duration* 
Its  being  in  our  power,  and  its  being  proof  against  all 
accidents  of  time  and  fortune. 

On  the  other  hand,  the  view  of  a  vicious  character^ 
like  that  of  an  ugly  and  deformed  object,  is  disagreea- 
ble.   It  gives  disgust  and  abhorrence. 

If  the  unworthy  person  be  nearly  connected  with  us> 
we  have  a  very  painful  sympathy  indeed.  We  blush 
even  for  the  smaller  faults  of  those  we  are  connected 
with,  and  feel  ourselves^  as  it  >Yere^  dishonored  by  their 
ill  conduct. 


OF  MOBAL   APPROBATION.  idi 

But,  when  there  is  a  high  degree  of  depravity  in  any 
person  connected  with  us,  we  are  deeply  humbled  and 
depressed  by  it.  The  sympathetic  feeling  has  some 
resemblance  to  that  of  guilt  though  it  be  free  from  all 
guilt.  We  are  ashamed  to  see  our  acquaintance ; jWe 
would,  if  possible,  disclaim  all  connection  with  the 
guilty  person.  We  wish  to  tear  him  from  our  hearts, 
and  to  blot  him  out  of  our  remembrance. 

Time,  however,  alleviates  those  sympathetic  sor- 
rows which  arise  from  bad  behaviour  in  our  friends 
and  connections,  if  we  are  conscious  that  we  had  no 
share  in  their  guilt. 

The  wisdom  of  God,  in  the  constitution  of  our  na- 
ture, has  intended,  that  this  sympathetic  distress 
should  interest  us  the  more  deeply  in  the  good  be- 
haviour, as  well  as  in  the  good  fortune  of  our  friends  ; 
and  that  thereby  friendship,  relation,  and  every  social 
tie,  should  be  aiding  to  virtue,  and  unfavourable  to  vice. 

How  common  is  it,  even  in  vicious  parents,  to  be 
deeply  afflicted  when  their  children  go  into  those  cours- 
es in  which  perhaps  they  have  gone  before  them,  and, 
by  their  example,  shown  them  the  way. 

If  bad  conduct  in  those  in  whom  we  are  interested, 
be  uneasy  and  painful,  it  is  so  much  more  when  we  are 
conscious  of  it  in  ourselves.  This  uneasy  feeling  has 
a  name  in  all  languages.    We  call  it  remorse. 

Jt  has  been  described  in  such  frightful  colours  by 
writers  sacred  and  profane,  by  writers  of  every  age  and 
of  every  persuasion,  even  by  Epicureans,  that  I  will  not 
attempt  the  description  of  it. 

It  is  on  account  of  the  uneasiness  of  this  feeling, 
that  bad  men  take  so  much  pains  to  get  rid  of  it,  and 
to  hide,  even  from  their  own  eyes,  as  much  as  possible, 
the  pravity  of  their  conduct.  Hence  arise  all  the  arts 
of  self-deceit,  by  which  men  varnish  their  crimes,  or 
endeavour  to  wash  out  the  stain  of  guilt.    Hence  the 


192  ESSAY  III. 

various  Tncthods  of  expiation  which  superstition  lias 
inycnted,  to  solace  the  conscience  of  the  criminal,  and 
give  some  cooling  to  his  parched  breast.  Hence  also 
arise^  very  often,  the  efforts  of  men  of  bad  hearts  to  ex- 
eel  in  some  amiable  quality,  which  may  be  a  kind  of 
counterpoise  to  their  vices,  both  in  the  opinion  of  othersr 
and  in  tlieir  own. 

For  no  man  can  bear  the  thought  of  being  absolute- 
ly destitute  of  all  worth.  The  consciousness  of  this 
would  make  him  detest  himself,  hate  the  light  of  the 
sun,  and  fly,  if  possible,  out  of  existence. 

I  have  now  endeavoured  to  delineate  the  natural  op- 
erations of  that  principle  of  action  in  man,  which  we 
call  the  moral  sense,  the  moral  faculty,  conscience. 
We  know  nothing  of  our  natural  faculties,  but  by  their 
operations  within  us.  Of  their  operations  in  our  own 
minds,  we  are  conscious,  and  we  see  the  signs  of  their 
operations  in  the  minds  of  others.  Of  this  faculty 
the  operations  appear  to  be,  the  judging  ultimately  of 
what  is  right,  what  is  wrong,  and  what  is  indifferent, 
in  the  conduct  of  moral  agents ;  the  approbation  of 
good  conduct,  and  disapprobation  of  bad  in  conse- 
quence of  that  judgment  j  and  the  agreeable  emotions 
which  attend  obedience,  and  disagreeable  which  attend 
disobedience  to  its  dictates. 

The  Supreme  Being,  who  has  given  us  eyes  to  dis- 
cern what  may  be  useful  and  what  hurtful  to  our  nat- 
ural life,  has  also  given  us  this  light  within  to  direct 
our  moral  conduct. 

Moral  conduct  is  the  business  of  every  man ;  and 
therefore  the  knowledge  of  it  ought  to  be  within  the 
reach  of  all. 

Epicurus  reasoned  acutely  and  justly  to  show,  that 
a  regard  to  our  present  happiness  should  induce  us  to 
the  practice  of  teiDpQrauce^  Justice^  and  humanity.  But 


OF  MORAL   APPROBATION^.  193 

the  bulk  of  mankind  cannot  follow  long  trains  of  rea- 
soning. The  loud  voice  of  the  passions  drowns  the 
calm  and  still  voice  of  reasoning. 

Conscience  commands  and  forbids  with  moreauthw- 
ity,  and,  in  the  most  common  and  most  important  points 
of  conduct,  without  the  labour  of  reasoning.  Its  voice 
is  heard  by  every  man,  and  cannot  be  disregarded  with 
impunity. 

The  sense  of  guilt  makes  a  man  at  variance  with 
himself.  He  sees  that  he  is  what  he  ought  not  to  be. 
He  has  fallen  from  the  dignity  of  his  nature,  and  has 
sold  his  real  worth  for  a  thing  of  no  value.  He  is 
conscious  of  demerit,  and  cannot  avoid  the  dread  of 
meeting  with  its  reward. 

On  the  other  hand,  he  who  pays  a  sacred  regard  to 
the  dictates  of  his  conscience,  cannot  fail  of  a  present 
reward,  and  a  reward  proportioned  to  the  exertion  re- 
quired in  doing  his  duty. 

The  man  who.  in  opposition  to  strong  temptation, 
by  a  noble  effort,  maintains  his  integrity,  is  the  happi- 
est man  on  earth.  The  more  severe  his  conflict  has 
been,  the  greater  is  his  triumph.  The  consciousness 
of  inward  worth  gives  strength  to  his  heart,  and  makes 
his  countenance  to  shine.  Tempests  may  beat  and 
floods  roar;  but  he  stands  firm  as  a  rock,  in  the  joy  of 
a  good  conscience,  and  confidence  of  divine  approbation. 

To  this  I  shall  only  add,  what  every  man's  con- 
science dictates,  that  he  who  does  his  duty,  from  the 
conviction  that  it  is  right  and  honorable,  and  what  he 
ought  to  do,  acts  from  a  nobler  principle,  and  with 
more  inward  satisfaction,  than  he  who  is  bribed  to  do 
jt,  merely  from  the  consideration  of  a  reward  present 
or  future. 


19If  essay  III. 

CHAP.  VIII. 

OBSEBVATIONS    CONCERNING   CONSCIENCE. 

I  SHAii.  now  conclude  this  Essay  iivith  some  obser- 
vations concerning  this  power  of  the  mind  which  we 
call  conscience,  by  which  its  nature  may  be  better  un- 
derstood. 

The  Jirst  is,  that  like  all  our  other  powers,  it  comes 
to  maturity  by  insensible  degrees,  and  may  be  much 
aided  in  its  strength  and  vigour  by  proper  culture. 

All  the  human  faculties  have  their  infancy  and  their 
state  of  maturity. 

The  faculties  which  we  have  in  common  with  the 
brutes  appear  first,  and  have  the  quickest  growth.  In 
the  first  period  of  life,  children  are  not  capable  of  dis- 
tinguishing right  from  wrong  in  human  conduct ; 
neither  are  they  capable  of  abstract  reasoning  in  mat- 
ters of  science.  Their  judgment  of  moral  conduct,  as 
well  as  their  judgment  of  truth,  advances  by  insensi- 
ble degrees,  like  the  corn  and  the  grass. 

In  vegetables,  first  the  blade  or  the  leaf  appears, 
then  the  flower,  and  last  of  all  the  fruit,  the  noblest 
production  of  the  three,  and  that  for  which  the  others 
were  produced.  These  succeed  one  another  in  a  reg- 
ular order.  They  require  moisture  and  heat,  and  air, 
and  shelter,  to  bring  them  to  maturity,  and  may  be 
much  improved  by  culture.  According  to  the  variations 
of  soil,  season,  and  culture,  some  plants  are  brought 
to  much  greater  perfection  than  others  of  the  same 
species.  But  no  variation  of  culture,  or  season,  or  soil^ 
can  make  grapes  grow  from  thorns,  or  figs  from  this- 
tles. 

TVe  may  observe  a  similar  progress  in  the  faculties 
of  the  mind  :  for  there  is  a  wonderful  analogy  among  all 
the  works  of  God,  from  the  least  even  to  the  greatest. 


OBSERVATIONS   CONCERNING  CONSCIENCE,       195 

The  faculties  of  man  unfold  themselves  in  a  certain 
order,  appointed  by  the  great  Creator.  In  their  grad- 
ual progress,  they  may  be  greatly  assisted  or  retarded, 
improved  or  corrupted,  by  education,  instruction,  ex- 
ample, exercise,  and  by  the  society  and  conversation  of 
men,  which,  like  soil  and  culture  in  plants,  may  pro- 
duce great  changes  to  the  better  or  to  the  worse. 

But  these  means  can  never  produce  any  new  facul- 
ties, nor  any  other  than  were  originally  planted  in  the 
mind  by  the  Author  of  nature.  And  what  is  common 
to  the  whole  species,  in  all  the  varieties  of  instruction 
and  education,  of  improvement  and  degeneracy,  is  the 
work  of  God,  and  not  the  operation  of  second  causes. 

Such  we  may  justly  account  conscience,  or  the  facul- 
ty of  distinguishing  right  conduct  from  wrong ;  since 
it  appears,  and  in  all  nations  and  ages  has  appeared^  la 
men  that  are  come  to  maturity. 

The  seeds,  as  it  were,  of  moral  discernment  are 
planted  in  the  mind  by  him  that  made  us.  They  grow 
up  in  their  proper  season,  and  are  at  first  tender  and 
delicate,  and  easily  warped.  Their  progress  depends 
very  much  upon  their  being  duly  cultivated  and  prop- 
erly exercised. 

It  is  so  with  the  power  of  reasoning,  which  ail  ac- 
knowledge to  be  one  of  the  most  eminent  natural  fac- 
ulties of  man.  It  appears  not  in  infancy.  It  springs 
up,  by  insensible  degrees,  as  we  grow  to  maturity.  But 
its  strength  and  vigour  depend  so  much  upon  its  being 
duly  cultivated  and  exercised,  that  we  see  many  ia- 
dividuals,  nay,  many  nations,  in  which  it  is  hardly  to 
be  perceived. 

Our  intellectual  discernment  is  not  so  strong  and  vig- 
orous by  nature,  as  to  secure  us  from  errors  in  specu- 
lation. On  the  contrary,  we  see  a  great  part  of  man- 
kind, in  every  age,  sunk  in  gross  ignorance  of  things 
that  are  obvious  to  the  more  enlightened,  and  fettered  by 


196  ESSAY  III. 

errors  and  false  notions,  which  tlie  human  understand- 
ing, t]u\y  improved,  easily  throws  off. 

It  would  be  extremely  absurd,  from  the  errors  and 
ignorance  of  mankind,  to  conclude  that  there  is  no  such 
thing  as  truth  j  or  that  man  has  not  a  natural  faculty 
of  discerning  it,  and  distinguishing  it  from  error. 

In  like  manner,  our  moral  discernment  of  what  we 
ought,  and  what  we  ought  not  to  do,  is  not  so  strong  and 
vigorous  by  nature,  as  to  secure  us  from  very  gross  mis- 
takes with  regard  to  our  duty. 

In  matters  of  conduct,  as  well  as  in  matters  of  specu- 
lation, we  are  liable  to  be  misled  by  prejudices  of  edu- 
cation, or  by  wrong  instruction.  But,  in  matters  of  con- 
duct, we  are  also  very  liable  to  have  our  judgment 
warped  by  our  appetites  and  passions,  by  fashion^  and 
by  the  contagion  of  evil  example. 

We  must  not  therefore  think,  because  man  has  the 
natural  power  of  discerning  what  is  right,  and  what  is 
"wrong,  that  he  has  no  need  of  instruction ;  that  this 
power  has  no  need  of  cultivation  and  improvement ; 
that  he  may  safely  rely  upon  the  suggestions  of  his 
mind,  or  upon  opinions  he  has  got,  he  knows  not  how. 

What  should  we  think  of  a  man,  who,  because  he  has 
by  nature  the  power  of  moving  all  his  limbs,  should^ 
therefore  conclude  that  he  needs  not  be  taught  to 
dance,  or  to  fence,  to  ride,  or  to  swim  ?  All  these  ex- 
ercises are  performed  by  that  power  of  moving  our 
limbs,  which  we  have  by  nature ;  but  they  will  be  per- 
formed very  awkwardly  and  imperfectly  by  those  who 
have  not  been  trained  to  them,  and  practised  in  them. 

What  should  we  think  of  the  man  who,  because  he 
has  the  power  by  nature  of  distinguishing  what  is  true 
from  what  is  false,  should  conclude  that  he  has  no  need 
to  be  taught  mathematics,  or  natural  pliilosophy,  or 
other  sciences  ?  It  is  by  the  natural  power  of  human 
understanding  that  every  thing  in  those  sciences  has 


OBSERVATIONS    CONCERNING  CONSCIENCE.       197 

been  discovered,  and  (hat  the  truths  they  contain  are 
discerned.  But  the  understanding  left  to  itself,  wiih- 
out  the  aid  of  instruction,  training,  habit,  and  exercise, 
"would  make  very  small  progress,  as  every  one  sees,  in 
persons  uninstructed  in  those  matters. 

Our  natural  power  of  discerning  between  right  and 
wrong,  needs  the  aid  of  instruction,  education,  exercise, 
and  habit,  as  well  as  our  other  natural  powers. 

There  are  persons  vho,  as  the  Scripture  speaks, 
have,  by  reason  of  use,  their  senses  exercised  to  discern 
bo<h  good  and  evil ;  by  that  means,  they  have  a  much 
quicker,  clearer,  and  more  certain  judgment  in  morals 
than  others. 

The  man  who  neglects  the  means  of  improvement  in 
the  knowledge  of  his  duty,  may  do  very  bad  things, 
while  he  follows  the  light  of  his  mind.  And  though  he 
be  not  culpable  for  acting  according  to  his  judgment,  he 
may  be  very  culpable  for  not  using  the  means  of  having 
liis  judgment  better  informed. 

It  may  be  observed,  that  there  are  truths,  both  spec- 
ulative and  moral,  which  a  man  left  to  himself  would 
never  discover ;  yet,  when  they  are  fairly  laid  before 
him,  he  owns  and  adopts  them,  not  barely  upon  the  au- 
thority of  his  teacher,  but  upon  their  own  intrinsic  evi- 
dence, and  perhaps  wonders  that  he  could  be  so  blind 
as  not  to  see  them  before. 

liike  a  man  whose  son  has  been  long  abroad,  and 
supi)osed  dead.  After  many  years  the  son  returns,  and 
is  not  known  by  his  father.  He  would  never  find  that 
this  is  his  son.  Bat,  when  he  discovers  himself  the 
father  soon  finds,  by  many  circumstances,  that  this  is 
his  son  who  was  lost,  and  can  be  no  other  person. 

Truth  has  an  affinity  with  the  human  understanding, 
which  error  has  not.  And  right  principles  of  conduct 
have  an  affinity  with  a  candid  mind,  which  wrong  prin- 
ciples have  not.    When  they  are  set  before  it  in  a  just 

vol.  IV.  26 


198  ESSAY  III. 

lighf,  a  well  disposed  mind  recognizes  this  aflSnity,  feels 
their  authority,  and  perceives  them  to  be  genuine.  It 
was  this,  I  apprehend,  that  led  Plato  to  conceive  that 
the  knowledge  we  aequii'C  in  the  present  state,  is  only 
reminiscence  of  what,  in  a  former  state,  we  were  ac- 
quainted with. 

A  man  born  and  brought  up  in  a  savage  nation,  may 
be  taught  to  pursue  injury  with  unrelenting  malice,  to 
the  destruction  of  his  enemy.  Perhaps  when  he  does 
so,  his  heart  does  not  condemn  him. 

Yet,  if  he  be  fair  and  candid,  and,  when  the  tumult 
of  passion  is  over,  have  the  virtues  of  clemency,  gener- 
osity, and  forgiveness,  laid  before  him,  as  they  were 
taught  and  exemplified  by  the  Divine  Author  of  our 
religion,  he  will  see,  that  it  is  more  noble  to  overcome 
himself,  and  subdue  a  savage  passion,  than  to  destroy 
his  enemy.  [Note  Z.]  He  will  see,  that  to  make  a 
friend  of  an  enemy,  and  to  overcome  evil  with  good,  is 
the  greatest  of  all  victories,  and  gives  a  manly  and  a 
rational  delight,  with  which  the  brutish  passion  of  re- 
venge deserves  not  to  be  compared.  He  will  see  that 
liitherto  he  acted  like  a  man  to  his  friends,  but  like  a 
brute  to  his  enemies ;  now  he  knows  how  to  make  his 
whole  character  consistent,  and  one  part  of  it  to  harmo- 
nize with  another. 

He  must  indeed  be  a  great  stranger  to  his  own  heart, 
and  to  the  state  of  human  nature,  avIio  does  not  see  that 
he  has  need  of  all  the  aid  which  his  situation  affords 
him,  in  order  to  know  how  he  ought  to  act  In  many 
cases  that  occur. 

A  second  observation  is,  that  conscience  is  peculiar 
to  man.  We  see  not  a  vestige  of  it  in  brute  animals. 
It  is  one  of  those  prerogatives  by  which  we  are  raised 
above  them. 

Brute  animals  have  many  faculties  in  common  with 
US.  They  ste,  and  hear,  and  taste>  and  smelly  and  feel. 


OBSEBVATIONS  CONCERNING   CONSCIENCE.       199 

They  have  their  pleasures  and  pains.  They  have  va- 
rious instincts  and  appetites.  They  have  an  affection 
for  their  offspring,  and  some  of  them  for  their  herd  or 
flock.  Dogs  have  a  wonderful  attachment  to  their  mas- 
ters, and  give  manifest  signs  of  sympathy  with  them. 

We  see  in  brute  animals,  anger  and  emulation^  pride 
and  shame.  Some  of  them  are  capable  of  being  trained 
by  habit,  and  by  rewards  and  punishments,  to  many 
things  useful  to  man. 

All  this  must  be  granted  |  and  if  our  perception  of 
what  we  ought,  and  what  we  ought  not  to  do,  could  be 
resolved  into  any  of  these  principles,  or  into  any  combi- 
nation of  them,  it  would  follow,  that  some  brutes  are 
moral  agents,  and  accountable  for  their  conduct. 

But  common  sense  revolts  against  this  conclusion. 
A  man,  who  seriously  charged  a  brute  with  a  crime, 
would  be  laughed  at.  They  may  do  actions  hurtful  to 
thf?mselves,  or  to  man.  They  may  have  qualities,  or 
acquire  habits,  that  lead  to  such  actions ;  and  this  is 
all  we  mean  when  we  call  them  vicious.  But  they  can- 
not be  immoral ;  nor  can  they  be  virtuous.  They  are 
not  capable  of  self-government ;  and,  when  they  act 
according  to  the  passion  or  habit  which  is  strongest  at 
the  time,  they  act  according  to  the  nature  that  God  has 
given  them,  and  no  more  can  be  required  of  them. 

They  cannot  lay  down  a  rule  to  themselves,  which 
they  are  not  to  transgress,  though  prompted  by  appe- 
tite, OP  ruffled  by  passion.  We  see  no  reason  to  think 
that  they  can  form  the  conception  of  a  general  rule,  or 
of  obligation  to  adhere  to  it. 

They  have  no  conception  of  a  promise  or  contract ; 
nor  can  you  enter  into  any  treaty  with  them.  They 
can  neither  affirm  nor  deny,  nor  resolve,  nor  plight  their 
faith.  If  nature  had  made  them  capable  of  these  op- 
erations, we  should  see  the  signs  of  tliem  in  their  mo- 
tions and  gestures. 


200  ESSAY   111. 

The  most  sagacious  brutes  never  invented  a  lan- 
guage, nor  learned  the  use  of  one  before  invented. 
They  never  formed  apian  of  government,  nor  transmit- 
ted inventions  to  (Iieir  posterily. 

These  things,  and  many  others  that  are  obvious  to 
common  observation,  show,  that  there  is  just  reason  why 
mankind  have  always  considered  the  brute  creation  as 
destitute  of  the  noblest  faculties  with  which  God  has 
endowed  man,  and  particularly  of  rhat  faculty  which 
makes  us  moral  and  accountable  beings. 

The  next  observation  is,  that  conscience  is  evidently 
intended  by  nature  to  be  the  immediate  guide  and  di- 
rector of  our  conduct,  after  \vc  arrive  at  the  j  ears  of  un- 
derstanding. 

There  are  many  things  which,  from  their  nature  and 
structure,  show  intuitively  the  end  for  which  they  were 
made. 

A  man  who  knows  the  structure  of  a  watch  or  clock, 
can  have  no  doubt  in  concluding  that  it  was  made  to 
measure  time.  And  he  that  knows  the  structure  of  the 
eye,  and  the  properties  of  light,  can  have  as  little  doubt 
whether  it  was  made  thai  we  might  see  by  it. 

In  the  fabric  of  the  body,  the  intention  of  the  sever- 
al parts  is,  in  many  instances,  so  evident,  as  to  leave  no 
possibility  of  doubt.  Who  can  doubt  whether  the 
muscles  were  intended  to  move  the  parts  in  which  they 
are  inserted  ?  Whether  the  bones  were  intended  to 
give  strength  and  support  to  the  body ;  and  some  of 
them  to  guard  the  parts  wl^ch  they  enclose  ? 

When  we  attend  to  the  structure  of  the  mind,  the 
intention  of  its  various  original  powers  is  no  less  evi- 
dent. Is  it  not  evident,  that  the  external  senses  are 
given,  that  we  may  discern  those  qualities  of  bodies 
which  may  be  useful  or  hurtful  to  us :  Memory,  that 
we  may  retain  the  knowledge  we  have  acquired :  Judg- 


OBSERVATIONS    CONCERNING   CONSCIENCE.      20i 

mentand  understandingy  that  we  may  distinguish  what 
is  true  from  what  is  false  ? 

The  natural  appetites  of  hunger  and  thirst,  the  nat- 
ural atfections  of  parents  (o  theii'  ofFapriog,  and  of  re- 
lations to  each  other,  the  natural  docility  and  credulity 
of  children,  the  affections  of  pily  and  sympathy  with 
the  distressed,  the  attachment  we  feel  to  neighbours, 
to  acquaintance,  and  to  the  laws  and  constitution  of 
our  country ;  these  are  parts  of  our  constitution,  which 
plainly  point  out  their  end.  so  that  he  must  be  blind,  or 
very  inattentive  who  does  not  perceive  it.  Even  the 
passions  of  anger  and  resentment,  appear  very  plainly  to 
be  a  kind  of  defensive  armour,  given  by  our  Maker  to 
guard  us  against  injuries,  and  to  deter  the  injurious. 

Thus  it  holds  generally  with  regard  both  to  the  in- 
tellectual and  active  powers  of  man,  that  the  intention 
for  which  they  are  given  is  written  in  legible  charac- 
ters upon  the  face  of  them. 

Nor  is  this  the  case  of  any  of  them  more  evidently 
than  of  conscience.  Its  intention  is  manifestly  implied 
in  its  office  ;  which  is,  to  show  us  what  is  good,  what 
bad,  and  what  indifferent  in  human  conduct. 

It  judges  of  every  action  before  it  is  done.  For  we 
can  rarely  act  so  precipitately,  but  we  have  the  con- 
sciousness that  what  we  are  about  to  do  is  right,  or 
■wrong,  or  indifferent.  Like  the  bodily  eye,  it  natural- 
ly looks  forward,  though  its  attention  may  be  turned 
back  to  the  past. 

To  conceive,  as  some  seem  to  have  done,  that  its 
office  is  only  to  reflect  on  past  actions,  and  to  approve 
or  disapprove,  is,  as  if  a  man  should  conceive,  that  the 
office  of  his  eyes  is  only  to  look  back  upon  the  road  he 
has  travelled,  and  to  see  whether  it  be  clean  or  dirty ; 
a  mistake  which  no  man  can  make  who  has  the  prop- 
er nse  of  his  eyos. 


202  ESSAY   III. 

Conscience  prescribes  measures  to  every  appetite, 
affection^  and  passion,  and  says  to  every  other  princi- 
ple of  action,  So  far  thou  uiayest  go,  but  no  further. 

We  may  indeed  transgress  its  dictates,  but  we  can- 
not transgress  them  with  innocence,  nor  even  with  im- 
punity. 

We  condemn  ourselves,  or,  in  the  language  of  Scrip- 
ture, our  heart  condemns  us,  whenever  we  go  beyond 
the  rules  of  right  and  wrong  which  conscience  pre- 
scribes. 

Other  principles  of  action  may  have  more  strength, 
but  this  only  has  authority.  Its  sentence  makes  us 
guilty  to  ourselves,  and  guilty  in  the  eyes  of  our  Maker, 
whatever  other  principle  may  be  set  in  opposition  to  it. 

It  is  evident  therefore,  that  this  principle  has,  from 
its  nature,  an  authority  to  direct  and  determine  with 
regard  to  our  conduct ;  to  judge,  to  acquit,  or  to  con- 
demn, and  even  to  punish;  an  authority  which  be- 
longs to  no  other  principle  of  the  human  mind. 

It  is  the  candle  of  the  Lord  set  up  within  us,  to 
guide  our  steps.  Other  principles  may  urge  and  impel, 
but  this  only  authorizes.  Other  principles  ought  to 
be  controlled  by  this  ;  this  may  be,  but  never  ought  to 
be,  controlled  by  any  other,  and  never  can  be  with  in- 
nocence. 

The  authority  of  conscience  over  the  other  active 
principles  of  the  mind,  I  do  not  consider  as  a  point  that 
requires  proof  by  argument,  but  as  self-evident.  For 
it  implies  no  more  than  this,  that  in  all  cases  a  man 
ought  to  do  his  duty.  He  only  who  does  in  all  cases 
what  he  ought  to  do,  is  the  perfect  man. 

Of  this  perfection  in  the  human  nature,  the  Stoics 
formed  the  idea,  and  held  it  forth  in  their  writings  as 
the  goal  to  which  the  race  of  life  ought  to  be  directed. 
Their  wise  man  was  one  in  whom  a  regard  to  the  /to- 
ncshim  swallowed  up  every  other  principle  of  action. 


OBSEEVATIOXS    CONCERNING   CONSCIENCE.      303 

The  wise  man  of  the  Stoics,  like  the  perfect  orator 
of  the  rhetoricians,  was  an  ideal  character,  and  was  in 
some  respects,  carried  beyond  nature ;  yet  it  was  per- 
haps the  most  perfect  model  of  virtue,  that  ever  was 
exhibited  to  the  heathen  world ;  and  some  of  those  who 
copied  after  it,  were  ornaments  to  human  nature. 

The  last  observation  is,  that  the  moral  faculty,  or 
conscience,  is  both  an  active  and  an  intellectual  power 
of  the  mind. 

It  is  an  active  power,  as  every  truly  virtuous  action 
must  be  more  or  less  influenced  by  it.  Other  princi- 
ples may  concur  with  it,  and  lead  the  same  way ;  but  no 
action  can  be  called  morally  good,  in  which  a  regard 
to  what  is  right  has  not  some  influence.  Thus  a  man 
who  has  no  regard  to  justice,  may  pay  his  just  debt, 
from  no  other  motive,  but  that  he  may  not  be  thrown 
into  prison.    In  this  action  there  is  no  virtue  at  all. 

The  moral  principle,  in  particular  cases,  may  be  op- 
posed by  any  of  our  animal  principles.  Passion  or  ap- 
petite ^ay  urge  to  what  we  know  to  be  wrong.  In 
every  instance  of  this  kind,  the  moral  principle  ought  to 
prevail,  ^nd  the  more  difficult  its  conquest  is,  it  is  the 
more  glorious. 

In  Some  cases,  a  regard  to  what  is  right  may  be  the 
sole  motive,  without  the  concurrence  or  opposition  of 
any  other  principle  of  action ;  as  when  a  judge  or  an 
arbiter  determines  a  plea  betvt^een  two  indifferent  per- 
sons, solely  from  a  regard  to  justice. 

Thus  we  see,  that  conscience,  as  an  active  principle, 
sometimes  concurs  with  other  active  principles,  some- 
times opposes  them,  and  sometimes  is  the  sole  princi- 
ple of  action. 

I  endeavoured  before  to  show,  that  a  regard  to  our 
own  good  upon  the  whole,  is  not  only  a  rational  prin- 
ciple of  action,  but  a  leading  principle,  to  which  all  our 
animal  principles  arc  subordinate.    As  there  are  there- 


204i  ESSAY  III. 

fore,  two  regulating  or  leading  principles  in  the  con- 
stitution of  roan,  a  regard  to  what  is  best  for  us  upon  the 
whole,  and  a  regard  to  *\uiy,  it  may  be  asked,  which  of 
these  ought  to  yield  if  I  hey  happen  to  interfere  ? 

Some  well  meaning  persons  have  maintained,  that 
all  regard  to  ourselves  and  to  our  own  happiness  ought 
to  be  extinguished  ;  that  we  should  love  virtue  for  its 
own  sake  only,  even  though  it  were  to  be  accompanied 
with  eternal  misery. 

This  seems  to  have  been  the  extravagance  of  some 
mystics,  which  perhaps  they  were  led  into,  in  opposition 
to  a  contrary  extreme  of  the  schoolmen  of  the  middle 
ages,  who  made  the  desire  of  good  to  ourselves  to  be 
the  sole  motive  to  action,  and  virtue  to  be  approvable 
only  on  account  of  its  present  or  future  reward. 

Juster  views  of  human  nature  will  teach  us  to  avoid 
both  these  extremes. 

On  the  one  hand,  the  disinterested  love  of  virtue  is 
imdoubtedly  the  noblest  principle  in  human  nature,  and 
ought  never  to  stoop  to  any  other. 

On  the  other  hand,  there  is  no  active  principle  which 
God  has  planted  in  our  nature  that  is  vicious  in  itself, 
or  that  ought  to  be  eradicated,  even  if  it  were  in  our 
power. 

They  are  all  useful  and  necessary  in  our  present 
state.  The  perfection  of  human  nature  consists,  not 
in  extinguishing,  but  in  restraining  them  within  their 
proper  bounds,  and  keeping  them  in  due  subordination 
to  the  governing  principles. 

As  to  the  supposition  of  an  opposition  between  the 
two  governing  principles,  that  is,  between  a  regard  to 
our  happiness  upon  the  whole,  and  a  regard  to  duty, 
this  supposition  is  merely  imaginary.  There  can  be  no 
such  opposition. 

While  the  world  is  under  a  wise  and  benevolent  ad- 
miniiitratiuD^  it  is  impossible^  that  any  man  should  in 


OBSERVATION'S    COBTCERNING    CONSCIENCE.       205 

the  issue,  be  a  loser  by  doing  bis  duty.  Every  man, 
therefore,  vvbo  believes  in  God,  while  he  is  careful  to 
do  his  duty,  may  safely  leave  the  care  of  his  happines.s 
to  Him  who  made  him.  He  is  conscious  that  he  con- 
sults the  last  most  effectually,  by  attending  to  the  first. 

Indeed,  if  we  suppose  a  man  to  be  an  atheist  in  his 
belief,  and,  at  the  same  time,  by  wrong  judgment,  to 
believe  that  virtue  is  contrary  to  his  happiness  upon 
the  whole,  this  case,  as  lord  Shaftesbury  justly  observes, 
is  without  remedy.  It  will  be  impossible  for  the  man 
to  act,  so  as  not  to  contradict  a  leading  principle  of  his 
nature.  He  must  either  sacrifice  his  happiness  to  vir- 
tue, or  virtue  to  happiness ;  and  is  reduced  to  this  mis* 
arable  dilemma,  whether  it  be  best  to  be  a  fool  or  a 
knave. 

This  shows  the  strong  connection  between  morality 
and  the  principles  of  natural  religion  ;  as  the  last  only 
can  secure  a  man  from  the  possibility  of  an  apprehen- 
sion, that  he  may  play  the  fool  by  doing  his  duty. 

Hence,  even  lord  Shaftesbury,  in  his  gravest  work, 
concludes,  That  Tirhie  without  'piety  is  incompUte. 
"Without  piety,  it  loses  its  brightest  example,  its  no- 
blest object,  and  its  firmest  support.  ^ 

(I  conclude  wifh  observing,  that  conscience,  or  the       ^\ 
moral  faculty,  is  likewise  an  intellectual  power. 

By  it  solely  we  have  the  original  conceptions  or  ideas 
of  right  and  wrong  in  human  conduct.  And  of  right 
and  wrong,  there  are  not  only  many  different  degrees, 
but  many  different  species.  Justice  and  injustice,  grat- 
itude and  ingratitude,  benevolence  and  malice,  pru- 
dence and  folly,  magnanimity  and  meanness,  decency, 
and  indecency,  are  various  moral  forms,  all  compre- 
hended under  the  general  notion  of  right  and  wrong  in 
conduct,  all  of  them  objects  of  moral  approbation  or 
disapprobation,  in  a  greater  or  a  less  degree. 

VOL.  IV.  37 


206      OBSERVATIONS    CONCERNING   CONSCIENCE. 

The  conception  of  (hese,  as  moral  qualities,  we  have 
by  oup  moral  faculty;  and  by  the  same  faculty,  when 
we  compare  them  together,  we  perceive  various  moral 
relations  among  them.  Thus,  we  perceive,  that  jus- 
tice is  entitled  to  a  small  degree  of  praise,  but  injustice 
to  a  high  degree  of  blame ;  and  the  same  may  be  said 
of  gratitude  and  its  contrary.  When  justice  and  grat- 
itude interfere,  gratitude  must  give  place  to  justice,  and 
unmerited  beneticence  must  give  place  to  both. 

Many  such  relations  between  the  various  moral  qual- 
ities compared  together,  are  immediately  discerned  by 
our  moral  faculty.  A  man  needs  only  to  consult  his 
own  heart  to  be  convinced  of  them. 

All  our  reasonings  in  morals,  in  natural  jurispru- 
dence, in  the  law  of  nations,  as  well  as  our  reasonings 
about  the  duties  of  natural  religion,  and  about  the  mor- 
al government  of  the  Deity,  must  be  grounded  upon  the 
dictates  of  our  moral  faculty,  as  first  principles. 

As  this  faculty,  therefore,  furnishes  the  human  mind 
with  many  of  its  original  conceptions  or  ideas,  as  well 
as  with  the  first  principles  of  many  important  branches 
of  human  knowledge,  it  may  justly  be  accounted  an  in- 
tellectual, as  well  as  an  active  power  of  the  mind«^ 


ESSAY   IV. 
OF  THE  LIBERTY  OF  MORAL  AGENTS. 

CHAP.  I. 

THE  NOTIONS  OF  MORAL  LIBERTY  AND  NECESSITY  STATED. 

By  the  liberty  of  a  moral  agent,  I  understand,  a  pow- 
er over  the  determinations  of  his  own  will. 

If,  in  any  action,  he  had  power  to  will  what  he  did,  or 
not  to  will  it,  in  that  action  he  is  free.  But  if,  ia 
every  voluntary  action,  the  determination  of  his  will  he 
the  necessary  consequence  of  something  involuntary  in 
the  state  of  his  mind,  or  of  something  in  his  external 
circumstances,  he  is  not  free  ;  he  has  not  what  I  call 
the  liberty  of  a  moral  agent,  but  is  subject  to  necessity. 
[Note  A  A.] 

This  liberty  supposes  the  agent  to  have  understand- 
ing and  will ;  for  the  determinations  of  the  will  are 
the  sole  object  about  which  this  power  is  employed; 
and  there  can  be  no  will*  without,  at  least,  such  a  de- 
gree of  understanding  as  gives  the  conception  of  that 
which  we  will. 

The  liberty  of  a  moral  agent  implies,  not  only  a  con- 
ception of  what  he  wills,  but  some  degree  of  practical 
judgment  or  reason. 

For,  if  he  has  not  the  judgment  to  discern  one  de- 
termination to  be  preferable  to  another,  either  in  itself, 
or  for  some  purpose  which  he  intends,  what  can  be 


K 


'iOb  ESSAY    IV. 

the  use  of  a  power  to  determine  ?  his  detcrminatioDS 
must  be  made  perfectly  in  the  dark,  without  reason^ 
motive,  or  end.  They  can  neither  be  right  nor  wrong, 
wise  nor  foolish.  Whatever  the  consequences  may  be, 
they  cannot  be  imputed  to  the  agent,  who  had  not  the 
capacity  of  foreseeing  tlieni,  or  of  perceiving  any  rea- 
son for  acting  otherwise  than  he  did. 

We  may  perhaps  be  able  to  conceive  a  being  endow- 
ed with  power  over  the  determinations  of  his  will,  with- 
out any  light  in  his  mind  to  direct  that  power  to  some 
end.  But  such  power  would  be  given  in  vain.  No  ex- 
ercise of  it  could  be  either  blamed  or  approved.  As 
nature  gives  no  power  in  vain,  I  see  no  ground  to 
ascribe  a  power  over  the  determinations  of  the  will  to 
any  being  who  has  no  judgment  to  apply  it  to  the  di- 
rection of  his  conduct,  no  discernment  of  what  he  ought 
or  ought  not  to  do. 

For  that  reason,  in  this  Essay,  I  speak  only  of  the 
liberty  of  moral  agents,  who  are  capable  of  acting  well 
or  ill,  wisely  or  foolishly,  and  this,  for  distinction's 
sake,  I  shall  call  moral  liberty. 

What  kind,  or  what  degree  of  liberty  belongs  to 
1/rutc  animals,  or  to  our  owti  species,  before  any  use 
of  reason,  I  do  not  know.  We  acknowledge  that  they 
have  not  the  power  of  self-government.  Such  of  their 
actions  as  may  be  called  voluntainj,  seem  to  be  invaria- 
bly determined  by  the  passion  or  appetite,  or  afiTec- 
tion  or  habit,  which  is  strongest  at  the  time. 

This  seems  to  be  the  law  of  their  constitution,  to 
which  they  yield,  as  the  inanimate  creation  does,  with- 
out any  conception  of  the  law,  or  any  intention  of  obe- 
dience. 

But  of  civil  or  moral  government,  which  are  address- 
ed to  the  rational  powers,  and  require  a  conception  of 
the  law  and  an  intentional  obedience,  they  are,  in  the 
judgment  of  all  mankind,  incapable.    Nor  do  I  see 


THE   NOTIONS   OF  MORAL   IIBEKTT.  209 

what  end  could  be  served  by  giving  them  a  power  over 
the  determinations  of  their  own  will,  unless  to  make 
them  intractable  by  discipline,  which  we  see  they  are 
not. 

The  effect  of  moral  liberty  is,  that  it  is  in  the  power 
of  the  agent  to  do  well  or  ill.  This  power.*  like  every 
other  gift  of  God,  may  be  abused.  The  right  use  of 
this  gift  of  God  is  to  do  well  and  wisely,  as  far  as  his 
best  judgment  can  direct  him,  and  thereby  merit  esteem 
and  approbation.  The  abuse  of  it  is  to  act  contrary  to 
what  he  knows,  or  suspects  to  be  his  duty  and  his  wis- 
dom, and  thereby  justly  merit  disapprobation  and 
blame. 

By  necessity,  I  understand  the  want  of  that  moral 
liberty  which  I  have  above  defined.     [Note  B  B.] 

If  there  can  be  a  better  and  a  worse  in  actions  on 
the  system  of  necessity,  let  us  suppose  a  man  necessari- 
ly determined  in  all  cases  to  will  and  to  do  what  is 
best  to  be  done,  he  would  surely  be  innocent  and  incul- 
pable. But,  as  far  as  I  am  able  to  judge,  he  would  not 
be  entitled  to  the  esteem  and  moral  approbation  of 
those  who  knew  and  believed  this  necessity.  What 
was,  by  an  ancient  author,  said  of  Cato,  might  indeed 
be  said  of  him.  He  was  good  because  he  could  not  he 
otherwise.  But  this  saying,  if  understood  literally  and 
strictly,  is  not  the  praise  of  Cato,  but  of  his  constitu- 
tion, which  was  no  more  the  work  of  Cato,  than  his  ex- 
istence. 

On  the  other  hand,if  a  man  be  necessarily  detormin* 
ed  to  do  ill,  this  case  seems  to  me  to  move  pity,  but  not 
disapprobation.  He  was  ill,  because  he  could  not 
be  otherwise.  Who  can  blame  him  ?  Necessity  has  no 
law. 

If  he  knows  that  he  acted  under  this  necessity,  has 
he  not  just  ground  to  exculpate  himself?  The  blame, 
if  there  be  any,  is  not  in  him,  but  in  his  oonstitution. 


210  ESSAY  IV. 

If  he  be  charged  by  his  Maker  with  doing  wrong,  may 
he  not  expostulate  with  him,  and  say,  why  hast  thou 
made  me  thus  ?  1  may  be  sacrificed  at  thy  pleasure,  for 
the  common  good.  like  a  man  that  has  the  plague,  but 
not  for  ill  desert ;  for  thou  knowest  that  what  I  am 
charged  with  is  thy  work,  and  not  mine. 

Such  are  my  notions  of  moral  liberty  and  necessity, 
and  of  the  consequences  inseparably  connected  with 
both  the  one  and  the  other. 

This  moral  liberty  a  man  may  have,  though  it  do 
not  extend  to  all  his  actions,  or  even  to  all  bis  vol- 
untary actions.  He  does  many  things  by  instinct, 
many  things  by  <he  force  of  habit  without  any  thought 
at  all,' and  consequently  without  will.  In  the  first  part 
of  life,  he  has  not  the  power  of  self-government  any 
more  than  the  brutes.  That  power  over  the  determi- 
nations of  his  own  will,  which  belongs  to  him  in  ripe 
years,  is  limited,  as  all  his  powers  are  ;  and  it  is  per* 
haps  beyond  the  reach  of  his  understanding  to  define 
its  limits  with  precision.  "We  can  only  say.  in  generaly. 
that  it  extends  to  every  action  for  which  he  is  account- 
able. 

This  power  is  given  by  his  Maker,  and  at  his  pleas- 
ure whose  gift  it  is,  it  may  be  enlarged  or  diminished, 
continued  or  withdrawn.  No  power  in  the  creature  can 
be  independent  of  the  Creator.  His  hook  is  in  its  nose  ^ 
he  can  give  it  line  as  far  as  he  sees  fit,  and,  when  he 
pleases,  can  restrain  it,  or  turn  it  withersoever  he  will. 
Let  this  be  always  understood,  when  we  ascribe  liberty 
to  man,  or  to  any  created  being. 

Supposing  it  therefore  to  be  true,  that  man  is  a  free 
agent,  it  may  be  true,  at  the  same  time,  that  his  liber- 
ty may  be  impaired  or  lost,  by  disorder  of  body  or 
mind,  as  in  melancholy,  or  in  madness  ;  it  may  be  im- 
paired or  lost  by  vicious  habits ;  it  may,  in  particular 
cases;  be  restrained  by  divine  interposition. 


THE   NOTIONS   OF  MORAL  IIBERTY.  211 

"We  call  man  a  free  agent  in  the  same  way  as  we 
call  hiui  a  reasonable  agent.  In  many  things  he  is  not 
guided  by  reason,  but  by  principles  similar  to  those  of 
the  brutes.  His  reason  is  weak  at  best.  It  is  liable 
to  be  impaired  or  lost,  by  his  own  fault,  or  by  other 
means.  In  liUc  manner,  he  may  be  a  free  agent,  though 
his  freedom  of  action  may  have  many  similar  limitations. 

The  liberty  I  have  described  has  been  represented 
by  some  pbilcsophers  as  inconceivable^  and  as  involv- 
ing an  absurdity. 

*•  Liberty,''  they  say,  "  consists  only  in  a  power  to 
act  as  we  will ;  and  it  is  impossible  to  conceive  in  any 
being  a  greater  liberty  than  this.  Hence  it  follows, 
that  liberty  does  not  extend  to  the  determinations  of 
the  will,  but  only  to  the  actions  consequent  to  iu  deter- 
mination, and  depending  upon  the  will.  To  say  (hat  we 
have  power  to  will  such  an  action,  is  to  say,  that  we 
may  will  it,  if  we  will.  This  supposes  the  will  to  be 
determined  by  a  prior  will ;  and,  for  the  same  reason* 
that  will  must  be  determined  by  a  will  prior  to  it,  and 
soon  in  an  infinite  series  of  wills,  which  is  absurd.  To 
act  freely,  therefore,  can  mean  nothing  more  than  to 
act  voluntarily ;  and  this  is  all  the  liberty  that  can  be 
conceived  in  man,  or  in  any  being.*' 

This  reasoning,  first,  I  think,  advanced  by  Hobbes, 
has  been  very  generally  adopted  by  the  defenders  of 
necessity.  It  is  grounded  upon  a  definition  of  liberty 
totally  different  from-  that  which  I  have  given,  and 
therefore  does  not  apply  to  moral  liberty,  as  above  de- 
fined. 

But  it  is  said  that  this  is  the  only  liberty  that  !s  pos- 
sible^  that  is  conceivable,  that  does  not  involve  an  ab' 
surdity. 

It  is  strange  indeed  !  if  the  word  liherty  has  no  mean- 
ing but  this  one.  Lshall  mention  three,  all  very  com- 
mon. The  objection  applies  to  one  of  them,  but  to  nei- 
ther of  the  other  two. 


212  KSSAY    IV. 

Liberty  is  sometimes  opposed  to  external  force  or 
confinement  of  the  body.  Sometimes  it  is  opposed  to 
obligation  by  law,  or  by  la>Yful  authority.  Sometime^ 
it  13  opposed  to  neeessity. 

1st,  It  is  opposed  to  conilnenient  of  tlie  body  by  su- 
perior force.  So  we  say  a  prisoner  is  set  at  liberty 
when  his  fetters  are  knocked  off,  and  he  is  discharged 
from  confmcment.  This  is  the  liberty  defined  in  th» 
objection;  and  I  grant  that  this  liberty  extends  not  to 
the  will,  neither  does  the  confinement,  because  the  will 
cannot  be  confined  by  external  force. 

2dly,  Liberty  is  opposed  to  obligation,  by  law,  op 
lawful  authority.  This  liberty  is  a  right  to  act  one 
way  or  another,  in  tilings  which  the  law  has  neither 
commanded  nor  forbidden ;  and  this  liberty  is  meant 
when  wc  speak  of  a  man's  natural  liberty,  his  civil  lib- 
erty, his  christian  liberty.  It  is  evident  that  this  lib- 
erty, as  well  as  the  obligation  opposed  to  it,  extends 
to  the  will :  for  it  is  the  will  to  obey  that  makes  obe- 
dience ;  thcwill  to  transgress  that  makes  a  transgres- 
sion of  the  law.  Without  will  there  can  be  neither 
obedience  nor  transgression.  Law  supposes  a  power 
to  obey  or  to  transgress ;  it  does  not  take  away  this 
power,  but  proposes  the  motives  of  duty  and  of  interest, 
leaving  the  power  to  yield  to  them,  or  to  take  the  con- 
sequence of  transgression. 

3dly,  Liberty  is  opposed  to  necessity,  and  in  this 
sense  it  extends  to  the  determinations  of  the  will  only, 
and  not  to  what  is  consequent  to  the  will. 

In  every  voluntary  action,  the  determination  of  the 
will  is  the  first  part  of  the  action,  [Note  C  C]  upon 
which  alone  the  moral  estimation  of  it  depends.  It 
has  been  made  a  question  among  philosophers,  wheth- 
er, in  every  instance,  this  determination  be  the  neces- 
sary consequence  of  the  constitution  of  the  person,  and 
the  circumstances  in  which  he  is  placed  ?  or  whether 


THE    NOTIONS   OT  MORAL   LIBERTY.  213 

he  had  not  power,  in  many  cases,  to  determine  this  way 
or  that  ? 

This  has,  by  some,  been  called  the  philosophical  no- 
tion of  liberty  and  necessity;  but  it  is  by  no  means  pe- 
culiar  to  philosophers.  The  lowest  of  the  vulgar  have, 
in  all  ages,  been  prone  to  have  recourse  to  this  necessi- 
ty, to  exculpate  themselves  or  their  friends  in  what 
they  do  wrong,  though,  in  the  general  tenor  of  their 
conduct,  they  act  upon  the  contrary  principle. 

Whether  this  notion  of  moral  liberty  be  conceivable 
OP  not,  every  man  must  judge  for  himself.  To  me 
there  appears  no  difficulty  in  conceiving  it.  I  consider 
the  determination  of  the  will  as  an  effect.  This  eifect 
must  have  a  cause  which  had  power  to  produce  it  j 
(^  and  the  cause  must  be  either  the  person  himself,  whose 
will  it  is,  or  some  other  being.  '  The  first  is  as  easily 
conceived  as  the  last.  If  the  person  was  the  cause  of 
that  determination  of  his  own  will,  he  was  free-in  that 
action,  and  it  is  justly  imputed  to  him,  whether  it  be 
good  or  bad.  But,  if  another  being  was  the  cause  of 
this  determination,  either  by  producing  it  immediately, 
or  by  means  and  instruments  under  his  direction,  then 
the  determination  is  the  act  and  deed  of  that  being,  and 
is  solely  imputable  to  him. 

But  it  is  said,  "  That  nothing  is  in  our  power  but 
what  depends  upon  the  will,  and  therefore  the  will  it- 
self cannot  be  in  our  power," 

I  answer,  that  this  is  a  fallacy  arising  from  taking  a 
common  saying  in  a  sense  which  it  never  was  intend- 
ed to  convey,  and  in  a  sense  contrary  to  what  it  neces- 
sarily implies. 

In  common  life,  when  men  speak  of  what  is,  or  is 
not,  in  a  man's  power,  they  attend  only  to  the  external 
and  visible  effects,  which  only  can  be  perceived,  and 
which  only  can  affect  them.  Of  these,  it  is  true,  that 
nothing  is  in  a  man's  power,  but  what  depends  upon  bis 

vox.  IV.  38 


21i  THE    NOTiaNS   OF   MOHAL   IIBERTT. 

will,  and  this  is  all  that  is  meant  by  this  common  say^ 
ing. 

But  this  is  so  far  from  excluding  his  will  from  being 
in  his  power,  that  it  necessarily  implies  it.  For  to  say 
that  what  depends  upon  the  will  is  in  a  man's  power, 
but  the  will  is  not  in  his  power,  is  to  say  that  the  end 
is  in  his  power,  but  the  means  necessary  to  that  end  are 
not  in  his  power,  which  is  a  contradiction. 

In  many  propositions  which  we  express  universally, 
there  is  an  exception  necessarily  implied,  and  therefore 
always  understood.  Thus  when  we  say  that  all  things 
depend  upon  God,  God  himself  is  necessarily  excepted. 
I  like  manner,  when  we  say,  that  all  that  is  in  our  pow- 
er depends  upon  the  will,  the  will  itself  is  necessarily 
excepted ;  for  if  the  will  be  not,  nothing  else  can  be  in 
our  power.  Every  effect  must  be  in  the  power  of  its 
cause.  The  determination  of  the  will  is  an  effect,  and 
therefore  must  be  in  the  power  of  its  cause,  whether 
that  cause  be  the  agent  himself,  or  some  other  being. 

From  what  has  been  said  in  this  chapter,  I  hope  the 
notion  of  moral  liberty  will  be  distinctly  understood, 
and  that  it  appears  that  this  notion  is  neither  incon- 
ceivable, nor  involves  any  absurdity  or  contradiction. 


OF   THE   WORDS    CAUSE   AND   ErFECT.  315 

CHAP  11. 

OF  THE    WORDS    CAUSE    AND    EFFECT,    ACTION    AND    ACTIVE 
POWER. 

The  writings  upon  liberty  and  necessity  have  been 
much  darkened  by  the  ambiguity  of  the  words  used  in 
reasoning  upon  that  subject.  The  words  cause  and 
effectt  action  and  active  power,  libertij  and  necessitijf 
are  related  to  each  other :  the  meaning  of  one  deter- 
mines the  meaning  of  the  rest.  When  we  attempt  to 
define  them,  we  can  only  do  it  by  synonymous  words 
which  need  definition  as  much.  There  is  a  strict  sense 
in  which  those  words  must  be  used,  if  we  speak  and  rea- 
son clearly  about  moral  liberty ;  but  to  keep  to  this 
strict  sense  is  difficult,  because,  in  all  languages,  they 
have,  by  custom,  got  a  great  latitude  of  signification. 

As  we  cannot  reason  about  moral  liberty,  without 
using  those  ambiguous  words,  it  is  proper  to  point  out, 
as  distinctly  as  possible,  theip  proper  and  original 
meaning,  in  which  they  ought  to  be  understood  in  treat- 
ing of  this  subject,  and  to  show  from  what  causes  they 
have  become  so  ambiguous  in  all  languages,  as  to  dark- 
en and  embarrass  our  reasonings  upon  it. 

Every  thing  that  begins  to  exist,  must  have  a  cause 
of  its  existence,  which  had  power  to  give  it  existence. 
And  every  thing  that  undergoes  any  change,  must  have 
some  cause  of  that  change. 

That  neither  existence,  nor  any  mode  of  existence, 
can  begin  without  an  efficient  cause,  is  a  principle  that 
appears  very  early  in  the  mind  of  man ;  and  it  is  so 
universal,  and  so  firmly  rooted  in  human  nature,  that 
the  most  determined  skepticism  cannot  eradicate  it. 

It  is  upon  this  principle  that  we  ground  the  ra- 
tional belief  of  a  Deity.     But  that  is  not  the  only  use 


316  ES8AT    IV. 

to  tvhich  we  apply  it.  Every  man's  conduct  is  governed 
by  it  every  day,  and  almost  every  hour  of  his  life.  And 
if  it  were  possible  for  any  man  to  root  out  this  principle 
from  his  mind,  he  must  give  up  every  thing  that  is  call- 
ed common  prudence^  and  be  fit  only  to  be  confined  as 
insane. 

From  this  principle  it  follows,  that  every  thing  which 
undergoes  any  change,  must  either  be  the  efficient 
cause  of  that  change  in  itself,  or  it  must  be  changed 
by  some  other  being. 

In  the  Jirst  case  it  is  said  to  have  actine  jiower,  and 
to  act^  in  producing  that  change.  In  the  second  case 
it  is  merely  passive,  or  is  acted  upon,  and  the  active 
power  is  in  that  being  only  which  produces  the  change. 

Tiic  name  of  a  cause  and  of  an  agent,  is  properly 
given  to  that  being  only,  which,  by  its  active  power, 
produces  some  change  in  itself,  or  in  some  other  being. 
The  change,  whether  it  be  of  thought,  of  will,  or  of 
motion,  is  the  effect.  Active  power,  therefore,  is  a 
quality  in  the  cause,  which  enables  it  to  produce  the 
effect.  And  the  exertion  of  that  active  power  in  pro- 
ducing the  effect,  is  called  action,  agency,  efficiency. 

In  order  to  the  production  of  any  effect,  there  must 
be  in  the  cause,  not  only  power,  but  the  exertion  of  that 
power :  for  power  that  is  not  exerted  produces  no  effect. 

All  that  is  necessary  to  the  production  of  any  effect, 
is  power  in  an  efficient  cause  to  produce  the  effect,  and 
the  exertion  of  that  power  ;  for  it  is  a  contradiction  to 
say,  that  the  cause  has  power  to  produce  the  effect,  and 
exerts  that  poAver,  and  yet  the  effect  is  not  produced. 
The  effect  cannot  be  in  his  power  unless  all  the  means 
necessary  to  its  production  be  in  his  power. 

It  is  no  less  a  contradiction  to  say,  that  a  cause  has 
power  to  produce  a  certain  effect,  but  that  he  cannot 
exert  that  power  :  for  power  which  cannot  be  exerte*' 
is  no  power;  and  is  a  contradiction  in  terms. 


OF  THE   WORDS    CAUSE   AND    EFFECT.  317 

To  prevent  mistake,  it  is  proper  to  observe,  that  a 
beiDg  may  have  a  power  at  one  time  which  it  has  not 
at  another.  It  may  commonly  have  a  power,  which, 
at  a  particular  time,  it  has  not.  Thus,  a  man  may 
commonly  have  power  to  walk  or  to  run  ;  but  he  has 
not  this  power  when  asleep',  or  when  he  is  confined  by 
superior  force.  In  common  language,  he  may  be  said 
to  have  a  power  which  he  cannot  then  exert.  But  this 
popular  expression  means  only  that  he  commonly  has 
this  power,  and  will  have  it  when  the  cause  is  removed 
which  at  present  deprives  him  of  it :  for,  when  we 
speak  strictly  and  philosophically,  it  is  a  contradiction 
to  say  that  he  has  this  power,  at  that  moment  when 
he  is  deprived  of  it. 

These,  I  think,  are  necessary  consequences  from  the 
principle  first  mentioned,  that  every  change  which  hap- 
pens in  nature  must  have  an  efficient  cause  which  had 
power  to  produce  it. 

Another  principle,  which  appears  very  early  in  the 
mind  of  man,  is,  that  we  are  efficient  causes  in  our  de* 
liberate  and  voluntary  actions. 

We  are  conscious  of  making  an  exertion,  sometimes 
with  difficulty,  in  order  to  produce  certain  effects.  An 
exertion  made  deliberately  and  voluntarily,  in  order  to 
produce  an  effect,  implies  a  conviction  that  the  effect  is 
in  our  power.  No  man  can  deliberately  attempt  what 
he  does  not  believe  to  be  in  his  power.  The  language 
of  all  mankind,  and  their  ordinary  conduct  in  life,  de- 
monstrate, that  they  have  a  conviction  of  some  active 
power  in  themselves  to  produce  certain  motions  in 
their  own  and  in  other  bodies,  and  to  regulate  and  di- 
rect their  own  thoughts.  This  conviction  we  have  so 
early  in  life,  that  we  have  no  remembrance  when,  or 
in  what  way  we  acquired  it. 

That  such  a  conviction  is  at  first  the  necessary  re- 
sult of   our  constitution,  and  that  it  can   never  be 


218  ESSAY  IV. 

entirely  obliterated,  is,  I  think,  acknowledged  by  one 
of  the  most  zealous  defenders  of  necessity.  Free  Dis- 
cussion, &c.  p.  298.  "  Such  are  the  influences  to  which 
all  mankind,  without  distinction,  arc  exposed,  that 
they  necessarily  refer  actions,  I  mean  refer  them  ul- 
timately, first  of  all  to  themselves  and  others  ,•  and 
it  is  a  long  time  before  they  begin  to  consider  them- 
selves and  others  as  instruments  in  the  hand  of  a  su- 
perior agent.  Consequently,  the  associations  >Yhich 
refer  actions  to  themselves,  get  so  confirmed,  that  they 
are  never  entirely  obliterated  ^  and  therefore  the  com- 
mon language,  and  the  common  feelings  of  mankind, 
will  be  adapted  to  the  first,  the  limited  and  imperfect, 
or  rather  erroneous,  view  of  things." 

It  is  very  probable,  that  the  very  conception  or  idea 
of  active  power,  and  of  efficient  causes,  is  derived  from 
our  voluntary  exertions  in  producing  effects  ;  and 
that,  if  we  were  not  conscious  of  such  exertions,  wo 
should  have  no  conception  at  all  of  a  cause,  or  of  ac- 
tive power,  and  consequently  no  conviction  of  the  ne- 
cessity of  a  cause  of  every  change  which  we  observe  in 
nature. 

It  is  certain  that  we  can  conceive  no  kind  of  active 
power  but  what  is  similar  or  analogous  to  that  which 
we  attribute  to  ourselves ;  that  is,  a  power  which  is 
exerted  by  will  and  with  understanding.  Our  notion,, 
even  of  Almighty  power,  is  derived  from  the  notion 
of  human  power,  by  removing  from  the  former  those 
imperfections  and  limitations  to  which  the  latter  is  sub- 
jected. 

It  may  be  difficult  to  explain  the  origin  of  our  con- 
ceptions and  belief  concerning  efficient  causes  and  ac- 
tive power.  The  common  theory,  that  all  our  ideas 
are  ideas  of  sensation  or  reflection,  and  that  all  our 
belief  is  a  perception  of  the  agreement  or  the  disagree- 
ment of  those  ideas,  appears  to  be  repugnant,  both  to 


OF  THE  "VfORDS  CAUSE    AND   ErFECT,  2'19 

the  idea  of  an  efficient  cause^  and  to  the  belief  of  its 
necessity. 

An  attachment  to  that  theory  has  led  some  philoso- 
phers to  deny  that  we  have  any  conception  of  an  effi- 
cient cause,  or  of  active  power,  because  efficiency  and 
active  power  are  not  ideas,  either  of  sensation  or  re- 
flection. They  maintain,  therefore,  that  a  cause  is  on- 
ly something  prior  to  the  effect,  and  constantly  con- 
joined with  it.  This  is  Mr.  Hume's  notion  of  a  cause, 
and  seems  to  be  adopted  by  Dr.  Priestly,  who  says, 
"  That  a  cause  cannot  be  defined  to  be  any  thing,  but 
such  previous  circumstances  as  are  constantly  follow- 
ed by  a  certain  effect,  the  constancy  of  the  result  mak- 
ing us  conclude,  that  there  must  be  a  sufficient  reason, 
in  the  nature  of  the  things,  why  it  should  be  produced 
in  those  circumstances." 

But  theory  ought  to  stoop  to  fact,  and  not  fact  to 
theory.  Every  man  who  understands  the  language 
knows,  that  neither  priority,  nor  constant  conjunction? 
nor  both  taken  together,  imply  efficiency.  Every  man, 
free  from  prejudice,  must  assent  to  what  Cicero  has 
said  :  Itaque  non  sic  causa  intelligi  debet,  ut  quod  cui- 
que  anteeedat,  id  et  causa  sit,  sed  quod  cuique  efficienter 
antecedit. 

The  very  dispute,  whether  we  have  the  conception 
of  an  efficient  cause,  shows  that  we  have.  For  though 
men  may  dispute  about  things  which  have  no  existence, 
they  cannot  dispute  about  things  of  which  they  have 
no  conception. 

What  has  been  said  in  this  chapter  is  intended  to 
show,  that  the  conception  of  causes,  of  action,  and  of 
active  power,  in  the  strict  and  proper  sense  of  these 
words,  is  found  in  the  minds  of  all  men  very  early, 
even  in  the  dawn  of  their  rational  life.  It  is  therefore 
probable,  that,  in  all  languages,  the  words  by  which 
these  conceptions  were  expressed  were  at  first  distinct 


220  ESSAY    IV. 

and  unambiguous,  yet  it  is  certain,  that,  among  the 
most  enlightened  nations,  these  words  are  applied  to  so 
many  things  of  different  natures,  and  used  in  so  vague 
a  manner,  that  it  is  very  difficult  to  reason  about  them 
distinctly. 

This  phenomenon,  at  first  view,  seems  very  unac- 
countable. But  a  little  reflection  may  satisfy  us,  that 
it  is  a  natural  consequence  of  the  slow  and  gradual 
progress  of  human  knowledge. 

And  since  the  ambiguity  of  these  words  has  so  great 
influence  upon  our  reasoning  about  moral  liberty,  and 
furnishes  the  strongest  objections  against  it,  it  is  not 
foreign  to  our  subject  to  show  whence  it  arises.  When 
we  know  the  causes  that  have  produced  this  ambigui- 
ty, we  shall  be  less  in  danger  of  being  misled  by  it,  and 
the  proper  and  strict  meaning  of  the  words  will  more 
evidently  appear. 


OF   THE    AMBIGUITY   OF   THOSE    WOTIDS.         221 

CHAP.  III. 

CAUSES    OF   THE  AMBIGUITY    OF   THOSE    WOEDS. 

When  we  turn  our  attention  to  external  objects,  and 
begin  to  exercise  our  rational  faculties  about  them,  we 
find,  that  there  are  some  motions  and  changes  in  them, 
which  we  have  power  lo  produce,  aud  that  they  have 
many  which  must  have  some  other  cause.  Either  the 
objects  must  have  life  and  active  power,  as  we  have, 
or  they  must  be  moved  or  changed  by  something  that 
has  life  and  active  power,  as  external  objects  are  mov- 
ed by  us. 

Our  first  thoughts  seem  to  be,  that  the  objects  in 
which  we  perceive  such  motion  have  understanding 
and  active  power  as  we  have. 

''Savages,"  says  the  Abbe  Raynal,  **  wherever  they 
see  motion  which  they  cannot  account  for,  there  they 
suppose  a  soul." 

All  men  may  be  considered  as  savages  in  this  re- 
spect, until  they  are  capable  of  instruction,  and  of 
using  their  faculties  in  a  more  perfect  manner  than 
savages  do. 

The  rational  conversations  of  birds  and  beasts  in 
^sop^s  Fables  do  not  shock  thebelief  of  children.  To 
them  they  have  that  probability  which  we  require  in 
an  epic  poem.  Poets  give  us  a  great  deal  of  pleasure, 
by  clothing  every  object  with  intellectual  and  moral 
attributes,  in  metaphor  and  in  other  figures.  May  not 
the  pleasure  which  we  take  in  this  poetical  language, 
arise,  in  part,  from  its  correspondence  with  our  earli- 
est sentiments  ? 

However  this  may  be,  the  Abbe  RaynaPs  observa- 
tion is  sufficiently  confirmed,  both  from  fact,  and  from 
the  structure  of  all  languages. 

VOL.  IV.  29 


332  ESSAY    IV. 

Rude  nations  do  really  believe  sun,  moon)  and  stars, 
earth,  sea,  and  air,  fountains  and  lakes,  to  bave  under- 
standing and  active  power.  To  pay  homage  to  them, 
and  implore  their  favour,  is  a  kind  of  idolatry  natural 
to  savages. 

All  languages  carry  in  their  structure  the  marks  of 
their  being  formed  when  this  belief  prevailed.  The 
distinction  of  verbs  and  participles  into  active  and  pas- 
sive,  which  is  found  in  all  languages,  must  have  been 
originally  intended  to  distinguish  what  is  really  active 
from  what  is  merely  passive ;  and,  in  all  languages, 
we  find  active  verbs  applied  to  those  objects,  in  which, 
according  to  the  Abbe  RaynaPs  observation,  savages 
suppose  a  soul. 

Thus  we  say,  the  sun  rises  and  sets,  and  comes  to 
the  meridian,  the  moon  changes,  the  sea  ebbs  and  flows> 
the  winds  blow.  Languages  were  formed  by  men  who 
believed  these  objects  to  have  life  and  active  power  in 
themselves.  It  was  therefore  proper  and  natural  to 
express  their  motions  and  changes  by  active  verbs. 

There  is  no  surer  way  of  tracing  the  sentiments  of 
nations  before  they  have  records  than  by  the  struc- 
ture of  their  language,  which,  notwithstanding  the 
changes  produced  in  it  by  time,  will  always  retain 
some  signatures  of  the  thoughts  of  those  by  whom  it 
was  invented.  When  we  find  the  same  sentiments  in- 
dicated in  the  structure  of  all  languages,  those  senti- 
ments must  have  been  common  to  the  human  species 
■when  languages  were  invented. 

AVhen  a  few  of  superior  intellectual  abilities  find 
leisure  for  speculation,  they  begin  to  philosophize,  and 
soon  discover,  that  many  of  those  objects  which,  at 
first,  they  believed  to  be  intelligent  and  active,  are  real- 
ly lifeless  and  passive.  This  is  a  very  important  dis- 
covery. It  elevates  the  mind,  emancipates  from  many 
vulgar  superstitions,  and  invites  to  further  discoveries 
of  the  same  kind. 


OF   THE    AMBIGUITY   OF   THOSB    "WORDS.  223 

As  pliilosophy  advances,  life  and  activity  in  natural 
objects  retire,  and  leave  thera  dead  and  inactive.  In- 
stead of  moving  voluntarily,  we  find  them  to  be  moved 
necessarily  ;  instead  of  acting,  Me  find  them  to  be  act- 
ed upon ;  and  nature  appears  as  one  great  machine, 
where  one  wheel  is  turned  by  another,  that  by  a  third ; 
and  how  far  this  necessary  succession  may  reach,  the 
philosiopher  does  not  know. 

Tlie  weakness  of  human  reason  makes  men  prone, 
when  they  leave  one  extreme,  to  rush  into  the  opposite ; 
and  thus  philosophy,  even  in  its  infancy,  may  lead  men 
from  idolatry  and  polytheism,  into  atheism,  and  from 
ascribing  active  power  to  inanimate  beings,  to  conclude 
all  things  to  be  carried  on  by  necessity. 

Whatever  origin  we  ascribe  to  the  doctrines  of  athe- 
ism, and  of  fatal  necessity,  it  is  certain,"  that  both  may 
be  traced  almost  as  far  back  as  pliilosophy ;  and  both 
appear  to  be  the  opposites  of  the  earliest  sentiments  of 
men. 

It  must  have  been  by  the  observation  and  reasoning 
of  the  speculative  J'ew,  that  those  objects  were  dis- 
covered to  be  inanimate  and  inactive,  to  which  the 
many  ascribed  life  and  activity.  But  while  the  few 
are  convinced  of  this,  they  must  speak  the  language 
of  the  many  in  order  to  be  understood.  So  we  see, 
that  when  the  Ptolemaic  system  of  astronomy,  which 
agrees  with  vulgar  prejudice,  and  with  vulgar  lan- 
guage, has  been  universally  rejected,  by  philosophers, 
they  continue  to  use  the  phraseology  that  is  grounded 
upon  it,  not  only  in  speaking  to  the  Tulgar,  but  in 
speaking  to  one  another.  They  say,  the  sun  rises  and 
sets,  and  moves  annually  through  all  the  signs  of  the 
zodiac,  while  they  believe  that  he  never  leaves  his  place. 

In  like  manner,  those  active  verbs  and  participles, 
which  were  applied  to  the  inanimate  objects  of  nature, 
when  they  were  believed  to  be  really  active,  continue  to 


22i  ESSAY   17. 

be  applied  to  thein  after  they  are  discovered  to  be  pas- 
sive. 

The  forms  of  language,  once  established  by  custom, 
are  not  so  easily  changed  as  the  notions  on  which  they 
were  originally  Jbunded.  "While  the  sounds  remain, 
their  signiHcation  is  gradually  enlarged  or  altered. 
This  is  sometimes  found,  even  in  those  sciences  in 
which  the  signification  of  words  is  the  most  accurate 
and  precise.  Thus,  in  arithmetic,  the  word  number, 
among  the  ancients,  always  signified  so  many  units, 
and  it  would  have  been  absurd  to  apply  it  either  to 
unity,  or  to  any  part  of  an  unit ;  but  now  we  call  uni- 
ty, or  any  part  of  unity,  a  number.  With  them,  mul- 
tiplication always  increased  a  number,  and  division 
diminished  it;  but  >ve  speak  of  multiplying  by  a  frac- 
tion, which  diminishes,  and  of  dividing  by  a  fraction, 
which  increases  the  number.  We  speak  of  dividing 
or  multiplying  by  unity,  which  neither  diminishes  nor 
increases  a  number.  These  forms  of  expression,  in 
the  ancient  language,  would  have  been  absurd. 

By  such  changes,  in  the  meaning  of  words,  the  lan- 
guage of  every  civilized  nation  resembles  old  furniture 
uew  modelled,  in  which  many  things  are  put  to  uses 
for  which  they  were  not  originally  intended,  and  for 
which  they  were  not  perfectly  fitted. 

This  is  one  great  cause  of  the  imperfection  of  lan- 
guage, and  it  appears  very  remarkably  in  those  verbs 
and  participles  Avhich  are  active  in  their  form,  but  are 
frequently  used  so  as  to  have  nothing  active  in  their 
signification. 

Hence  we  are  authorized  by  custom  to  ascribe  action 
and  active  power  to  things  which  we  believe  to  be  pas- 
sive. The  proper  and  original  signification  of  every 
word,  which  at  first  signified  action  and  causation,  is 
buried  and  lost  under  that  vague  meaning  which  cus- 
tom has  affixed  to  it. 

That  there  is  a  real  distinction,  and  perfect  oppo- 
sition, between  acting  and  being  acted  upon,  every. 


OF  THE   AMBIGUITY    OF     THOS^E    WORDS.        223 

man  maj  be  satisfied  who  is  capable  of  reflection. 
And  that  this  distinction  is  perceived  by  all  men  as 
soon  as  they  begin  to  reason,  appears  by  the  distinction 
between  active  and  passive  verbs,  which  is  original  in 
all  languages,  though  from  the  causes  that  have  been 
mentioned,  they  come  to  be  confounded  in  the  progress 
of  human  improvement. 

Another  way  in  which  philosophy  has  contributed 
very  much  to  the  ambiguity  of  the  words  under  our 
consideration,  deserves  to  be  mentioned. 

The  first  step  into  natural  philosophy,  and  what  has 
commonly  been  considered  as  its  ultimate  end,  is  the 
investigation  of  the  causes  of  the  phenomena  of  nature ; 
that  is,  the  causes  of  those  appearances  in  nature  which 
are  not  the  effects  of  human  power.  Felix  qui  potuit 
rerum  cognoscere  causas,  is  the  sentiment  of  every 
mind  that  has  a  turn  to  speculation. 

The  knowledge  of  the  causes  of  things  promises  no 
less  the  enlargement  of  human  power  than  the  gratifi- 
cation of  human  curiosity  ;  and  therefore,  among  the 
enlightened  part  of  mankind,  this  knowledge  has  been 
pursued  in  all  ages  with  an  avidity  proportioned  to  its 
importance. 

In  nothing  does  the  difierence  between  the  intellec- 
tual powers  of  man,  and  those  of  brutes  appear  more 
conspicuous  than  in  this.  For  in  them  we  perceive 
no  desire  to  investigate  the  causes  of  things,  nor  indeed 
any  sign  that  they  have  the  proper  notion  of  a  cause. 

There  is  reason,  however,  to  apprehend,  that,  in 
this  investigation,  men  have  wandered  much  in  the  dark, 
and  that  their  success  has  by  no  means  been  equal  to 
their  desire  and  expectation. 

TVe  easily  discover  an  established  order  and  con- 
nection in  the  phenomena  of  nature.  We  learn,  in 
many  cases,  from  what  has  happened,  to  know  what 
will  happen.  The  discoveries  of  this  kind,  made  by 
common  observation,  are  many,  and  are  the  foundation 


226  ESSAY    IV. 

of  common  prudence  in  the  conduct  of  life.  Philoso. 
phers,  by  more  accurate  observation  and  experiment^ 
have  made  many  more  ;  by  which  arts  are  improved, 
and  human  power,  as  well  as  human  knowledge  is  en- 
larged. 

But,  as  to  the  real  causes  of  the  phenomena  of  na- 
ture, how  little  do  we  know  ?  All  our  knowledge  of 
things  external,  must  be  grounded  upon  the  informa- 
tion of  our  senses;  but  causation  and  active  power 
are  not  objects  of  sense;  nor  is  that  always  the  cause 
of  a  phenomena  which  is  prior  to  it,  and  constantly 
conjoined  with  it ;  otherwise  night  would  be  the  cause 
of  day,  and  day  the  cause  of  the  following  night. 

It  is  to  this  day  problematical,  whether  all  the  phe- 
nomena of  the  material  system  be  produced  by  the  im- 
mediate operation  of  the  First  Cause,  according  to  the 
laws  which  his  wisdom  determined,  or  whefher  subor- 
dinate causes  are  employed  by  him  in  the  operations  of 
nature  ;  and  if  they  be,  what  their  nature,  and  their 
different  oflSces  are  ?  And  whether,  in  all  cases,  they 
act  by  commission,  or,  in  some,  according  to  their  dis- 
cretion ? 

When  we  are  so  much  in  the  dark  with  regard  to 
the  real  cause  of  the  phenomena  of  nature,  and  have  a 
strong  desire  to  know  them,  it  is  not  strange,  that  in- 
genious men  should  form  numberless  conjectures  and 
theories,  by  which  the  soul,  hungering  for  knowledge, 
is  fed  with  chaff  instead  of  wheat. 

In  a  very  ancient  system,  love  and  strife  were  made 
the  causes  of  things.  In  the  Pythagorean  and  Platon- 
ic system,  matter,  ideas,  and  an  intelligent  mind.  By 
Aristotle,  matter,  form,  and  privation.  Des  Cartes 
thought  that  matter  and  a  certain  quantity  of  motion 
given  at  first  by  the  Almighty,  are  sufficient  to  account 
for  all  the  phenomena  of  the  natural  world.  Leibnitz, 
that  ^the  universe  is  made  up  of  monades,  active  and 


or  THE   AMBIGUITY  OF  THOSE   WORDS.  227 

percipient,  which,  by  their  active  power  received  at 
first,  produce  all  the  changes  they  undergo. 

While  men  thus  wandered  in  the  dark  in  search  of 
causes,  unwilling  to  confess  their  disappointment,  they 
vainly  conceived  every  thing  they  stumbled  upon  to  be 
a  cause,  and  the  proper  notion  of  a  cause  is  lost,  by  giv- 
ing the  name  to  numberless  things  which  neither  are^ 
nor  can  be  causes. 

This  confusion  of  various  things  under  the  name  of 
causes,  is  the  more  easily  tolerated,  because,  however 
hurtful  it  may  be  to  sound  philosophy,  it  has  little  influ- 
ence upon  the  concerns  of  life.  A  constant  antecedent^ 
or  concomitant,  of  the  phenomenon  whose  cause  is 
sought,  may  answer  the  purpose  of  the  inquirer,  as  well 
as  if  the  real  cause  were  known.  Thus  a  sailor  de- 
sires to  know  the  cause  of  the  tides,  that  he  may  know 
when  to  expect  high  water :  he  is  told  that  it  is  high 
water  when  the  moon  is  so  many  hours  past  the  me- 
ridian: and  now  he  thinks  he  knows  the  cause  of  the 
tides.  "What  he  takes  for  the  cause  answers  his  pur- 
pose, and  his  mistake  does  him  no  harm. 

Those  philosophers  seem  to  have  had  the  justest 
views  of  nature,  as  well  as  the  weakness  of  human  un- 
derstanding, who,  giving  up  the  pretence  of  discovering 
the  causes  of  the  operations  of  nature,  have  applied 
themselves  to  discover  by  observation  and  experiment, 
the  rules,  or  laws  of  nature  according  to  which  the  phe- 
nomena of  nature  are  produced. 

In  compliance  with  custom,  or  perhaps,  to  gratify 
the  avidity  of  knowing  the  causes  of  things,  we  call  the 
laws  of  nature  causes  and  active  powers.  So  we 
speak  of  the  powers  of  gravitation,  of  magnetism,  of 
electricity. 

We  call  them  causes  of  many  of  the  phenomena  of 
nature ;  and  such  they  are  esteemed  by  the  ignorant, 
and  by  the  half-learned. 


22S  ESSAY    IV. 

But  those  of  justcr  discernment  see,  that  laws  of  na- 
ture are  not  agents.  They  are  not  endowed  with  active 
power,  and  therefore  cannot  be  causes  in  the  proper 
sense.  They  are  only  the  rules  according  to  which  the 
unknown  cause  acts. 

Thus  it  appears,  that  our  natural  desire  to  know  the 
causes  of  the  phenomena  of  nature,  our  inability  to  dis- 
cover them,  and  the  vain  theories  of  philosophers  em- 
ployed in  this  search,  have  made  the  word  cause,  and 
the  related  words,  so  ambiguous,  and  to  signify  so 
many  things  of  different  natures,  that  they  have  in  a 
manner  lost  their  proper  and  original  meaning,  and  yet 
we  have  no  other  words  to  express  it. 

Every  thing  joined  with  the  effect,  and  prior  to  it,  is 
called  its  cause.  An  instrument,  an  occasion,  a  reason, 
a  motive,  an  end,  are  called  causes.  And  the  related 
words  effect,  agent,  poiver,  are  extended  in  the  same 
vague  manner. 

"Were  it  not  that  the  terms  cause  and  agent  have  lost 
their  proper  meaning,  in  the  crowd  of  meanings  that 
have  been  given  them,  we  should  immediately  per- 
ceive a  contradiction  in  the  terms  necessary  cause,  and 
necessary  agent.  And  although  the  loose  meaning  of 
those  words  is  authorized  by  custom,  the  arbiter  of 
language,  and  therefore  cannot  be  censured,  perhaps 
cannot  always  be  avoided,  yet  we  ought  to  be  upon  our 
guard,  that  we  be  not  misled  by  it  to  conceive  things 
to  be  the  same  which  are  essentially  different. 

To  say  that  man  is  a  free  agent,  is  no  more  than  to 
say,  that  in  some  instances  he  is  truly  an  agent  and  a 
cause,  and  is  not  merely  acted  upon  as  a  passive  instru- 
ment. On  the  contrary,  to  say  that  he  acts  from  ne- 
cessity, is  to  say  that  he  does  not  act  at  all,  that  he  is 
no  agent,  and  that,  for  any  thing  we  know,  there  is  only 
one  agent  in  the  universe,  who  does  every  thing  that  is 
done,  whether  it  be  good  or  ill. 


OF   THE    AMBIGUITY    OF   THOSE    WORDS.  2'29 

If  this  necessity  beaflribiUed  even  to  (be  Deity,  the 
consequence  must  be,  that  there  neither  is,  nor  can  be, 
a  cause  at  all;  that  nothing  acts,  but  every  thing  is 
acted  upon ;  nothing  moves,  but  every  thing  is  moved ; 
all  is  passion  without  action;  all  instrument  >vi( bout 
an  agent ;  and  that  every  thing  that  is,  or  was,  or  shall 
be,  has  that  necessary  existence  in  its  season,  which 
we  commonly  consider  as  the  prerogative  of  the  First 
Cause. 

This  I  take  to  be  the  genuine,  and  the  most  tenable 
system  of  necessity.  It  was  the  system  of  Spiuoza, 
though  he  was  not  the  fir!>t  that  advanced  it;  fur  it  is 
very  ancient.  And  if  this  system  be  true,  our  reason- 
ing to  prove  the  existence  of  a  first  cause  of  every 
thing  that  begins  to  exist,  must  be  given  up  as  falla- 
cious. 

If  it  be  evident  to  the  human  understanding,  as  I 
take  it  to  be,  that  what  begins  to  exist  must  have  an 
efficient  cause,  which  had  power  to  give  or  not  to  give 
it  existence ;  and  if  it  be  true,  that  effects  well  and 
wisely  fitted  for  the  best  purposes,  demonstrate  in- 
telligence, wisdom,  and  goodness,  in  the  efiieient  cause, 
as  well  as  power,  the  proof  of  a  Deity  from  these  prin- 
ciples is  very  easy  and  obvious  to  all  men  that  can  rea- 
son. 

If,  on  the  other  hand,  our  belief  that  cveiy  thing  that 
begins  to  exist  has  a  cause,  be  got  only  by  experience ; 
and  if,  as  Mr.  Hume  maintains,  the  only  notion  of  a 
cause  be  something  prior  to  the  effect,  which  experi- 
ence has  shown  to  be  constantly  conjoined  with  such 
an  effect,  I  see  not  how,  from  these  principles,  it  is  pos- 
sible to  prove  the  existence  of  an  intelligent  cause  of 
the  universe. 

Mr.  Hume  seems  to  me  to  reasonjustly  from  his  defi- 
nition of  a  cause,  when  in  the  person  of  an  Epicurean, 
he  maintains^  that  with  regard  to  a  cause  of  the  uni- 

VOL.   IV.  30 


230  OF   THE   AMBIGUITY   OF   THOSE    'WOBDS. 

verse,  we  can  conclude  nothing  j  because  it  is  a  singular 
effect.  "We  have  no  experience  that  such  effects  are 
always  conjoined  with  such  a  cause.  Nay,  the  cause 
which  we  assign  to  this  effect,  is  a  cause  which  no  man 
has  seen,  nor  can  see,  and  therefore  experience  cannot 
inform  us  that  it  has  ever  been  conjoined  with  any  ef- 
fect. He  seems  to  me  to  reason  justly  from  his  defini- 
tion of  a  cause,  when  he  maintains,  that  any  thing  may 
be  the  cause  of  any  thing;  since  priority  and  constant 
conjunction  is  all  that  can  be  conceived  in  the  notion  of 
a  cause. 

Another  zealous  defender  of  the  doctrine  of  necessi- 
ty says,  that  "  A  cause  cannot  be  defined  to  be  any 
thing  but  such  previous  circumstances  as  are  constantly 
followed  hy  a  certain  effect ;  the  constancij  of  the  result 
making  us  conclude,  that  there  must  he  Vi  sufficient  rea- 
son, in  the  nature  of  things,  why  it  should  be  produced 
in  those  circumstances.'' 

This  seems  to  me  to  be  Mr.  Hume*s  definition  of  a 
cause  in  other  words,  and  neither  more  nor  less;  but 
I  am  far  from  thinking  that  the  author  of  it  will  admit 
the  consequences  which  Mr.  Hume  draws  from  it,  how- 
ever necessary  they  may  appear  to  others. 


OF    THE    INFLUENCE    OF    MOTIVES.  331 

CHAP.  IV. 

OF   THE    INFLUENCE    OF    MOTIVES. 

The  modern  advocates  for  tlie  doctrine  of  necessity 
lay  the  stress  of  their  cause  upon  the  influence  of  mo- 
tives. 

"  Every  deliberate  action,"  they  say,  "  must  have  a 
motive.  When  there  is  no  motive  on  the  other  side, 
this  motive  must  determine  the  agent:  when  there  are 
contrary  motives,  the  strongest  must  prevail :  we  rea- 
son from  men's  motives  to  tljcir  actions,  as  we  do  from 
other  causes  to  their  efllects  :  if  man  be  a  free  agent, 
and  be  not  governed  by  motives,  all  his  actions  must  be 
mere  caprice,  rewards  and  punishments  can  have  no 
effect,  and  such  a  being  must  be  absolutely  ungoverna- 
ble." 

In  order  therefore  to  understand  distinctly,  in  what 
sense  we  ascribe  moral  liberty  to  man,  it  is  necessary 
to  understand  what  influence  we  allow  to  motives.  To 
prevent  misunderstanding,  which  has  been  very  com- 
mon upon  this  point,  I  offer  the  following  observations. 

1st,  I  grant  that  all  rational  beings  are  influenced, 
and  ought  to  be  influenced  by  motives.  But  the  influ- 
ence of  motives  is  of  a  very  different  nature  from  that 
of  eflicient  causes.  They  are  neither  causes  nor  agents. 
They  suppose  an  efficient  cause,  and  can  do  nothing 
without  it.  We  cannot,  without  absurdity,  suppose  a 
motive,  either  to  act,  or  to  be  acted  upon  ;  it  is  equally 
incapable  of  action  and  of  passion ;  because  it  is  not 
a  thing  that  exists,  but  a  thing  that  is  conceived  j 
it  is  what  the  schoolmen  called  an  ens  rationis.  Mo- 
tives, therefore,  may  influence  to  action,  but  they 
do  not  act.  They  may  be  compared  to  advice,  or 
exhortation,  which  leaves  a  man  still  at  liberty.    For 


232  ESSAY  IV. 

ill  vain  is  advice  given  when  there  is  not  a  power 
either  to  do,  or  to  forbear,  what  it  recommends.  In 
like  manner,  motives  suppose  liberty  in  the  agent, 
otherwise  they  have  no  influence  at  all. 

It  is  a  law  of  nature,  wiih  respect  to  matter,  that 
every  modon,  and  change  of  motion,  is  proportional  to 
the  force  impressed,  and  in  the  direction  of  that  force. 
The  scheme  of  necessity  supposes  a  similar  law  to  ob- 
tain in  all  the  actions  of  intelligent  beings  ;  which, 
with  little  alteration,  may  be  expressed  thus:  every 
action,  or  change  of  action,  in  an  intelligent  being,  is 
proportional  to  the  force  of  motives  impressed,  and  in 
the  direction  of  that  force. 

The  law  of  nature  respecting  matter,  is  grounded 
upon  this  principle,  that  matter  is  an  inert,  inactive 
substance,  which  does  not  act,  but  is  acted  upon  ;  and 
the  law  of  necessity  must  be  grounded  upon  the  sup- 
position, that  an  intelligent  being  is  an  inert,  inactive 
substance,  which  does  not  act,  but  is  acted  upon. 

2dly,  Bational  beings,  in  proportion  as  they  are  wise 
and  good,  will  act  according  to  the  best  motives  ;  and 
every  rational  being,  who  does  otherwise,  abuses  his 
liberty.  The  most  perfect  being,  in  every  thing  where 
there  is  a  right  and  a  wrong,  a  better  and  a  worse, 
always  infallibly  acts  according  to  the  best  motives. 
This  indeed  is  little  else  than  an  identical  proposition  : 
for  it  is  a  contradiction  to  say,  that  a  perfect  being 
does  what  is  wrong  or  unreasonable.  But  to  say,  that 
he  does  not  act  freely,  because  he  always  does  what  is 
best,  is  to  say,  that  the  proper  use  of  liberty  destroys 
liberty,  and  that  liberty  consists  only  in  its  abuse. 

The  moral  perfection  of  ihe  Deity  consists,  not  in 
having  no  power  to  do  ill,  otherwise,  as  Dr.  Clark 
justly  observes,  there  would  be  no  ground  to  thank  him 
for  his  goodness  to  us  any  more  than  for  his  eternity 
or  immensity ;  but  his  moral  perfection  consists  in  this. 


OF  THE    INFIUENCE   OF   MOTIVES.  235 

that,  when  he  has  power  to  do  every  thing,  a  power 
which  cannot  be  resisted,  he  exerts  that  power  only 
in  doing  what  is  wisest  and  best.  To  be  subject  to 
necessity  is  to  have  no  power  at  all ;  for  power  and 
necessity  are  opposites.  We  grant,  therefore,  that 
motives  have  influence,  similar  to  that  of  advice  or  per- 
suasion ;  but  this  influence  is  perfectly  consistent  with 
liberty,  and  indeed  supposes  liberty. 

3dly,  Whether  every  deliberate  action  must  have  a 
motive,  depends  on  the  meaning  we  put  upon  the 
■word  deliberate.  If,  by  a  deliberate  action,  we  mean 
an  action  wherein  motives  are  weighed,  which  seems  to 
be  the  original  meaning  of  (he  word,  surely  there  must 
be  motives,  and  contrary  motives,  otherwise  they  could 
not  be  weighed.  But  if  a  deliberate  action  means  only, 
as  it  commonly  does,  an  action  done  by  a  oool  and  calm 
determination  of  the  mind,  with  forethought  and  will, 
I  believe  there  are  innumerable  such  actions  done  with- 
out a  motive.    [Note  D  D.] 

This  must  be  appealed  to  every  man's  consciousness* 
I  do  many  trifling  actions  every  day,  in  which,  upon 
the  most  careful  reflection,  I  am  conscious  of  no  mo- 
tive ;  and  to  say  that  1  may  be  influenced  by  a  motive 
of  which  I  am  not  conscious,  is,  in  the  first  place,  an  ar«: 
bitrary  supposition  without  any  evidence,  and  then,  it  is 
to  say,  that  I  may  be  convinced  by  an  argument  which 
never  entered  into  my  thought.     [Note  E  E,] 

Cases  frequently  occur,  in  which  an  end,  that  is  of 
some  importance,  may  be  answered  equally  well  by 
any  one  of  several  different  means.  In  such  cases,  a 
man  who  intends  the  end  flnds  not  the  least  difficulty 
in  taking  one  of  these  means,  though  he  be  firmly  per- 
suaded, that  it  has  no  title  to  be  preferred  to  any  of  the 
others.    [NoteFF.] 

To  say  that  this  is  a  case  that  cannot  happen,  is  to 
contradict  the  experience   of  mankind  ;  for  surely  a 


2Si> 


ESSAY    IV. 


man  who  hasoccasjon  to  layout  a  shilling,  or  a  guinea^ 
may  have  two  hundred  that  arc  of  equal  value,  both 
to  the  giver  and  to  the  receiver,  any  one  of  which  will 
answer  his  purpose  equally  well.  To  say,  that,  if  such 
a  case  should  happen,  the  man  could  not  execute  his 
purpose,  is  still  more  ridiculous,  though  it  have  the 
authoriry  of  some  of  the  schoolmen,  who  determined, 
that  the  ass,  between  two  equal  bundles  of  hay,  would 
stand  still  till  it  died  of  hunger. 

If  a  man  could  not  act  without  a  motive,  he  would 
have  no  power  at  all ;  for  motives  are  not  in  our  power ; 
and  he  that  has  not  power  over  a  necessary  mean,  has 
not  power  over  the  end.    [Note  G  G.] 

That  an  action,  done  without  any  motive,  can  nei- 
ther have  merit  nor  demerit,  is  much  insisted  on  by  the 
writers  for  necessity,  and  triumphantly,  as  if  it  were 
the  very  hinge  of  the  controversy.  I  grant  it  to  be  a 
self-evident  proposition,  and  I  know  no  author  that 
ever  denied  it. 

How  insignificant  soever,  in  moral  estimation,  the 
actions  may  be  wliich  are  done  without  any  motive, 
they  are  of  moment  in  the  question  concerning  moral 
liberty.  For,  if  there  ever  was  any  action  of  this  kind, 
motives  are  not  the  sole  causes  of  human  actions.  And 
if  we  have  the  power  of  acting  without  a  motive,  that 
power,  joined  to  a  weaker  motive^  may  counterbalance 
a  stronger. 

4thly,  It  can  never  be  proved,  that  when  there  is  a 
motive  on  one  side  only,  that  motive  must  determine 
the  action.  [Note  H  H.] 

According  to  the  laws  of  reasoning,  the  proof  is  in- 
cumbent on  those  who  hold  the  affirmative  ;  and  I  have 
never  seen  a  shadow  of  argument,  which  does  not  take 
for  granted  the  thing  in  question,  to  wit,  that  motives 
are  the  sole  causes  of  actions. 

Is  there  no  such  thing  as  willfulness,  caprice  or  ob- 
stinacy, among  mankind  I  If  there  be  not;  it  is  wonder- 


or    THE    INFLUENCE    OF  MOTIVES.  335 

ful  that  they  should  have  names  in  all  languages.  If 
there  he  such  things,  a  single  motive,  or  even  many 
motives,  may  be  resisted. 

5thly,  When  it  is  said,  that  of  contrary  motives  the 
strongest  always  prevails,  this  can  neither  be  affirmed 
nor  denied  with  understanding,  until  we  know  dis- 
tinctly what  is  meant  by  the  strongest  motive. 

I  do  not  find,  that  those  who  have  advanced  this  as 
a  self-evident  axiom,  have  ever  attempted  to  explain 
what  they  mean  by  the  strongest  motive,  or  have  given 
any  rule  by  which  we  may  judge  which  of  two  motives 
is  the  strongest. 

How  shall  we  know  whether  the  strongest  motive 
always  prevails,  if  we  know  not  which  is  strongest  I 
There  must  be  some  test  by  which  their  strength  is  to 
be  tried,  some  balance  in  which  they  may  be  weighed, 
otherwise,  to  say  that  the  strongest  motive  always 
prevails,  is  to  speak  without  any  meaning.  We  must 
therefore  search  for  this  test,  or  balance,  since  they 
who  have  laid  so  much  stress  upon  this  axiom,  have 
left  us  wholly  in  the  dark  as  to  its  meaning.  I  grant, 
that  when  the  contrary  motives  are  of  the  same  kind, 
and  differ  only  in  quantity,  it  may  be  easy  to  say  which 
is  the  strongest.  Thus  a  bribe  of  a  thousand  pounds 
is  a  stronger  motive  than  a  bribe  of  a  hundred  pounds. 
But  when  the  motives  are  of  different  kinds,  as  money 
and  fame,  duty  and  worldly  interest,  health  and 
strength,  riches  and  honor,  by  what  rule  shall  we 
judge  which  is  the  strongest  motive  ? 

Either  we  measure  the  strength  of  motives,  merely 
by  their  prevalence,  or  by  some  other  standard  distinct 
from  their  prevalence. 

If  we  measure  their  strength  merely  by  their  preva- 
lence, and  by  the  strongest  motive  mean  only  the  mo- 
tive that  prevails,  it  will  be  true  indeed  that  the  strong- 
est motive  prevails  ',  but  the  proposition  will  be  iden- 


236  ESSAY   I>. 

ticaU  and  mean  no  more  than  that  the  strongest  mo- 
tive is  the  strongest  motive.  From  this  surely  no  con- 
clusion can  be  drawn. 

If  it  should  be  said,  that  by  the  strength  of  a  mo- 
tive is  not  meant  its  prevalence,  but  the  cause  of  its 
prevalence ;  that  we  measure  the  cause  by  the  effect, 
and  from  the  superiority  of  the  effect  conclude  the  su- 
periority of  the  cause,  as  we  conclude  that  to  be  the 
heaviest  weight  which  bears  down  the  scale :  I  answer, 
that,  according  to  this  explication  of  the  axiom,  it 
takes  for  granted  that  motives  are  the  causes,  and  the 
sole  causes  of  actions.  Nothing  is  left  to  the  agent, 
but  to  be  acted  upon  by  the  motives,  as  the  balance  is 
by  the  weights.  The  axiom  supposes,  that  the  agent 
does  not  act,  but  is  acted  upon ;  and,  from  this  suppo- 
sition, it  is  concluded  that  he  does  not  act.  This  is 
to  reason  in  a  circle,  or  rather  it  is  not  reasoning  but 
begging  the  question. 

Contrary  motives  may  very  properly  be  compared 
to  advocates  pleading  the  opposite  sides  of  a  cause  at 
the  bar.  It  would  be  very  weak  reasoning  to  say,  that 
such  an  advocate  is  the  most  powerful  pleader,  because 
sentence  was  given  on  his  side.  The  sentence  is  in  the 
power  of  the  judge,  not  of  the  advocate.  It  is  equally 
weak  reasoning,  in  proof  of  necessity,  to  say,  such  a 
motive  prevailed,  therefore  it  is  the  strongest  j  since 
the  defenders  of  liberty  maintain  that  the  determina> 
tion  was  made  by  the  man,  and  not  by  the  motive. 

We  are  therefore  brought  to  this  issue,  that  unless 
some  measure  of  the  strength  of  motives  can  be  found 
distinct  from  their  prevalence,  it  cannot  be  determin- 
ed, whether  the  strongest  motive  always  prevails  or 
not.  If  such  a  measure  can  be  found  and  applied,  we 
may  be  able  to  judge  of  Ihe  truth  of  this  maxim,  but 
not  otherwise. 

Every  thing  that  can  be  called  a  motive,  is  address- 
ed either  to  the  animal  or  to  the  rational  part  of  our 


OF    THE    INFLUENCE    OF    MOTIVES.  237 

nature.  Motives  of  the  former  kind  are  common  to 
us  with  the  brutes  ;  those  of  the  latter  are  peculiar  to 
rational  hcings.  We  shall  beg  leave,  for  distinction's 
sake,  to  call  the  formej,  animal  motives,  and  the  latter 
rational. 

Hunger  is  a  motive  in  a  dog  to  eat;  so  is  it  in  a  man. 
According  to  the  strength  of  the  appetite,  it  gives  a 
stronger  or  a  weaker  impulse  to  eat.  And  the  same 
thing  may  be  said  of  every  other  appetite  and  passion. 
Such  animal  motives  give  an  impure  to  the  agent, 
to  which  he  yields  with  ease  ;  and,  if  the  impulse 
be  strong,  it  cannot  be  resisted  without  an  eiTort  which 
requires  a  greater  or  a  less  degree  of  self-command. 
Such  motives  are  not  addressed  to  the  rational  pow- 
ers. Their  influence  is  immediately  upon  the  will. 
We  feel  their  influence,  and  judge  of  their  strength, 
by  the  conscious  effort  which  is  necessary  to  resist 
them. 

When  a  man  is  acted  ly^on  by  contrary  motives  of 
this  kind,  he  flnds  it  easy  to  yield  to  the  strongest. 
They  are  like  two  forces  pushing  him  in  contrary  di- 
rections. To  yield  to  the  strongest,  he  needs  only  to 
be  passive.  By  exerting  his  oMn  force,  he  may  re- 
sist ;  but  this  requires  an  effort  of  which  he  is  con- 
scious. .The  strength  of  motives  of  this  kind  is  per- 
ceived, not  by  our  judgment,  but  by  our  feeling  ;  and 
that  is  the  strongest  of  contrary  motives,  to  which  he 
can  yield  with  ease,  or  which  it  requires  an  cfixirt  of 
self-command  to  resist;  and  this  we  may  call  the  a«i- 
mal  test  of  the  strength  of  motives. 

If  it  be  asked,  whether,  in  motives  of  this  kind,  the 
strongest  always  prevails  ?  I  answer,  that  in  brute  an- 
imals I  believe  it  does.  They  do  not  appear  to  have 
any  self  command  ;  an  appetite  or  passion  in  tliem  is 
overcome  only  by  a  stronger  contrary  one.  On  this 
account,  they  are  not  accountable  for  their  actions,  nor 
can  they  be  the  subjects  of  law. 

VOL.    IV.  3t 


*3&  ESSAY    IV. 

But  in  men  who  are  able  to  exercise  their  rational 
powers,  and  Iiave  any  degree  of  self-command,  the 
strongest  animal  motive  does  not  always  prevail.  The 
ilesh  <loes  not  always  prevail  against  the  spirit,  though 
loo  often  it  does.  And  if  men  were  necessarily  deter- 
mined by  the  strongest  animal  motive,  they  could  no 
more  be  accountable,  or  capable  of  being  governed  by 
law,  than  brutes  are. 

Let  us  next  consider  rational  motives,  to  which  the 
name  of  motive  is  more  commonly  and  more  properly 
given.  Their  influence  is  upon  the  judgment,  by  con- 
vincing us  that  such  an  action  ought  to  be  done,  that 
it  is  our  duty,  or  conducive  to  our  real  good,  or  to  some 
end  which  we  have  determined  to  pursue. 

They  do  not  give  a  blind  impulse  to  the  will  as  ani- 
mal motives  do.  They  convince,  but  they  do  not  im- 
pel, unless,  as  may  often  happen,  they  excite  some  pas- 
sion of  hope,  or  fear,  or  desire.  Such  passions  may 
be  excited  by  convicfion,  and  may  operate  in  its  aid  as 
other  animal  motives  do.  But  there  may  be  convic- 
tion without  passion  ;  and  the  conviction  of  what  we 
ought  to  do,  in  order  to  some  end  which  we  have  judg- 
ed (It  to  be  pursued,  is  what  I  call  a  rational  motive. 

Brutes,  I  think,  cannot  be  influenced  by  such  mo- 
tives. They  have  not  the  conception  of  ought  and 
ought  not.  Children  acquire  these  conceptions  as 
their  rational  powers  advance  ;  and  they  are  found  in 
all  of  ripe  age,  who  have  the  human  faculties. 

If  thei*e  be  any  competition  between  rational  mo- 
tives, it  is  evident,  that  the  strongest,  in  the  eye  of  rea- 
son, is  that  which  it  is  most  our  duty  and  our  real  hap- 
piness to  follow.  Our  duty  and  our  real  happiness  are 
ends  which  are  inseparable;  and  they  are  the  ends 
which  every  man,  endowed  with  reason,  is  conscious 
he  ought  to  pursue  in  preference  to  all  others.  This 
we  may  call  the  rational  test  of  the  strength  of  motives. 


OF    THE    INFLUENCE    OF    MOTIVES.  239 

A  motive  which  is  the  strongest,  aeconling  to  the  aiii 
mal  test,  may  be,  and  ver^  often  is,  the  weakest  ac- 
cording to  the  rational. 
'  The  grand  and  the  important  competition  of  con- 
trary motives  is  between  the  animal,  on  the  one  hand, 
and  the  rational  on  the  other.  This  is  the  conflict  be- 
tween tbe  flesh  and  the  spirit,  upon  the  event  of  which 
the  character  of  men  depends. 

If  it  be  asked,  which  of  these  is  the  strongest  mo- 
tive? The  answer  is,  that  the  first  is  commonly  strong- 
est, when  they  are  tried  by  the  animal  test.  If  it 
were  not  so,  human  life  would  be  no  state  of  trial.  It 
would  not  be  a  warfare,  nor  would  virtue  require  any 
effort  or  self-command.  No  man  would  have  any 
temptation  to  do  wrong.  But,  when  we  try  the  con- 
trary motives  by  the  rational  test,  it  is  evident,  that 
the  rational  motive  is  always  the  strongest. 

And  now,  I  think,  it  appears,  that  the  strongest  mo- 
tive, according  to  either  of  the  tests  I  have  mentioned, 
does  not  always  prevail. 

In  every  Avise  and  virtuous  action,  the  motive  that 
prevails  is  the  strongest,  according  to  the  rational  test, 
but  commonly  the  weakest  according  to  the  animal. 
In  every  foolish,  and  in  every  vicious  action,  the  mo- 
tive that  prevails  is  commonly  the  strongest  according 
to  the  animal  test,  but  always  the  weakest  according 
to  the  rational. 

6thly,  It  is' true,  that  we  reason  from  men's  motives 
to  their  actions,  and,  in  many  cases,  with  great  proba- 
bility, but  never  with  absolute  certainty.  And  to  infer 
from  this,  that  men  are  necessarily  determined  by  mo- 
tives, is  very  weak  reasoning. 

For,  let  us  suppose,  for  a  moment,  that  men  have 
moral  liberty,  I  would  ask,  what  use  may  they  be  ex- 
pected to  make  of  this  liberty  ?  It  may  surely  be  ex- 
pected, that  of  the  various  actions  within  the  sphere 


'210  ESSAY     IV. 

of  theii'  power,  they  will  choose  what  pleases  ihcm 
most  for  the  present,  or  what  appears  to  he  most  for 
their  real,  (hough  distant  j^o  d.  When  there  is  a  com- 
petition hetween  these  motives,  the  foolish  will  prefer  ^ 
present  gratification  ;  the  wise,  the  greater  and  more 
distant  good. 

Now,  is  not  this  (he  very  way  in  which  we  see  men 
act  ?  Is  it  not  from  the  presumption  that  <hey  act  in 
this  way,  that  we  reason  from  (heir  motive  to  their 
actions  ?  Surely  it  is.  Is  it  not  weak  reasoning,  there- 
fore, to  argue,  thut  men  have  not  liberty,  hecause  they 
act  in  (hat  very  way  in  which  they  would  act  if  they 
had  liberty  ?  It  would  surely  he  more  like  reasoning, 
to  draw  the  contrary  conclusion  from  the  same  prem- 
ises. 

7thly,  Nor  is  it  better  reasoning  to  conclude,  that, 
if  men  are  not  necessarily  determined  by  motives,  all 
their  actions  must  be  capricious. 

To  resist  the  strongest  animal  motives  when  duty 
requires,  is  so  far  from  being  capricious,  that  it  is,  in 
the  highest  degree,  wise  and  virtuous.  And  we  hope 
this  is  often  done  by  good  men. 

To  aci  against  rational  motives,  must  always  be  fool- 
ish, vicious,  or  capricious.  And  it  cannot  be  denied 
that  there  are  too  many  such  actions  done.  But  is  it 
reasonable  to  conclude,  that  because  liberty  may  be 
abused  by  the  foolish  and  the  vicious,  therefore  it  can 
never  be  put  to  its  proper  use,  which  is  to  act  wisely 
and  virtuously? 

8thly,  It  is  equally  unreasonable  to  conclude,  that  if 
men  are  not  necessarily  determined  by  motives,  re- 
wards and  punishments  would  have  no  effect.  With 
wise  men  they  will  have  their  due  effect ;  but  not  always 
with  the  foolish  and  the  vicious. 

Let  us  consider  what  effect  rewards  and  punishments 
do  really,  and  in  fact,  produce,  and  what  may  be  in- 


OF  THE   INFLUENCE   OF   MOTIVES.  241 

ferred  from  that  effect,  upon  each  of  the  opposite  sys- 
tems of  liberty  and  of  necessity. 

I  take  it  for  granted  that,  in  fact,  the  best  and  wisest 
laws,  both  human  and  divine,  are  often  transgressed, 
notwithstanding  the  rewards  and  punishments  that  are 
annexed  to  them.  If  any  man  shouUl  deny  this  fact, 
I  know  not  how  to  reason  with  him. 

From  this  fact,  it  may  be  inferred  with  certainty, 
upon  the  supposition  of  necessity,  that,  in  every  in- 
stance of  transgression,  the  motive  of  reward  or  pun- 
ishment was  not  of  sufficient  strength  to  produce  obe- 
dience to  the  law.  This  implies  a  fault  in  the  lawgiv- 
er;  but  there  can  he  no  fault  in  the  transgressor,  who 
acts  mechanically  by  the  force  of  motives.  We  might 
as  well  impute  a  fault  to  the  balance,  when  it  does  not 
raise  a  weight  of  two  pounds  by  the  force  of  one  pound. 

Upon  the  supposition  of  necessity,  there  can  be  nei- 
ther reward  nor  punishment,  in  the  proper  sense,  as 
those  words  imply  good  and  ill  desert.  Reward  and 
punishment  are  only  tools  employed  to  produce  a  me- 
chanical effect.  When  the  effect  is  not  produced,  the 
tool  must  be  unfit  or  wrong  applied. 

Upon  the  supposition  of  liberty,  rewards  and  punish- 
ments will  have  a  proper  effect  upon  the  wise  and  the 
good  ;  but  not  so  upon  the  foolish  and  the  vicious,  when 
opposed  by  their  animal  passions  or  bad  habits ;  and 
this  is  just  what  we  see  to  be  the  fact.  Upon  this  sup- 
position, the  transgression  of  the  law  implies  no  defect 
in  the  law,  no  fault  in  the  lawgiver;  the  fault  is  solely 
in  the  transgressor.  And  it  is  upon  this  supposition 
only,  that  there  can  be  either  reward  or  punishment  in 
the  proper  sense  of  the  words,  because  it  is  only  on  this 
supposition  that  there  can  be  good  or  ill  desert. 


342  ESSAY   IV. 

CHAPTER  V. 

XIBERTY   CONSISTENT   WITH    GOVERNMENT. 

When  it  is  said  that  liberty  would  make  us  abso- 
lutely ungovernable  by  God  or  man  ;  to  understand  tbe 
strength  of  this  conclusion,  i(  is  necessary  to  know  dis- 
tinctly what  is  meant  by  government.  There  are  two 
kinds  of  government,  very  different  in  their  nature. 
The  one  we  may,  for  distinction's  sake,  call  mechani- 
cal government,  the  other  moral.  The  first  is  the 
government  of  beings  which  have  no  active  power,  but 
are  merely  passive  and  acted  upon;  the  second,  of  in- 
telligent and  active  beings. 

An  instance  of  mechanical  government  maybe,  that 
of  a  master  or  commander  of  a  ship  at  sea.  Suppos- 
ing her  skilfully  built,  and  furnished  with  every  thing 
proper  for  the  destined  voyage,  to  govern  her  properly 
for  this  purpose  requires  much  art  and  attention  :  and, 
as  every  art  has  it  rules,  or  laws,  so  has  this.  But  by 
whom  are  those  laws  to  be  obeyed,  or  those  rules  ob- 
served ?  not  by  the  ship,  surely,  for  she  is  an  inactive 
being,  but  by  the  governor.  A  sailor  may  say  that 
she  does  not  obey  the  rudder;  and  he  has  a  distinct 
meaning  when  he  says  so,  and  is  perfectly  understood. 
But  he  means  not  obedience  in  the  proper,  but  in  a 
metaphorical  sense :  for,  in  the  proper  sense,  the  ship 
can  no  more  obey  the  rudder,  than  she  can  give  a  com- 
mand. Every  motion,  both  of  the  ship  and  rudder,  is 
exactly  proportioned  to  the  force  impressed,  and  in  the 
direction  of  that  force.  The  ship  never  disobeys  the 
laws  of  motion,  even  in  the  metaphorical  sense;  and 
they  are  the  only  laws  she  can  be  subject  to. 

The  sailor,  perhaps,  curses  her  for  not  obeying  the 
rudder ;  but  this  is  not  the  voice  of  reason,  but  of  pas. 


XIBERTY    CONSISTENT    WITH    GOVEENMENT.   243 

sion,  like  that  of  the  losing  gamester,  when  he  curses 
the  dice.     The  ship  is  as  innocent  as  the  dice. 

Whatever  may  happen  during  the  voyage,  whatever 
may  be  its  issue,  the  ship,  in  the  e^e  of  reason,  is  nei- 
ther an  object  of  approbation  nor  of  blame ;  because 
she  does  not  act,  but  is  acted  upon.  If  the  material, 
in  any  part,  be  faulty  ;  who  put  it  to  that  use  ?  If  the 
form;  who  made  it?  If  the  rules  of  navigation  were 
not  observed  ;  who  transgressed  them?  If  a  storm  oc- 
casioned any  disaster,  it  was  no  more  in  the  power  of 
the  ship  than  of  the  master. 

Another  instance  to  illustrate  the  nature  of  mechan- 
ical government  may  be,  that  of  the  man  who  makes 
and  exhibits  a  puppet  show.  The  puppets,  in  all  their 
diverting  gesticulations,  do  not  move,  but  are  moved 
by  an  i.upnlse  secretly  conveyed,  which  they  cannot 
resist.  If  they  do  not  play  their  parts  properly,  the 
fault  is  only  in  the  maker  or  manager  of  the  machinery. 
Too  much  or  too  little  force  was  applied,  or  it  was 
wrong  directed  No  reasonable  man  imputes  either 
praise  or  blame  to  the  puppets,  but  solely  to  their  maker 
or  their  governor. 

If  we  suppose  for  a  moment,  the  puppets  to  be  en- 
dowed with  understanding  and  will,  but  without  any 
degree  of  active  power,  this  will  make  no  change  in  the 
nature  of  their  government  ;  for  understanding  and 
will,  without  some  degree  of  active  power,  can  pro- 
duce no  effect.  They  might,  upon  this  supposition,  be 
called  intelligent  machines ;  but  they  would  be  machines 
still,  as  much  subject  to  the  laws  of  motion  as  inani- 
mate matter,  and  therefore  incapable  of  any  other  than 
mechanical  government. 

Let  us  next  consider  the  nature  of  moral  government. 
This  is  the  government  of  persons  who  have  reason 
and  active  power,  and  have  laws  prescribed  to  them 
for  their  conduct;  by  a  legislator.     Their  obedience 


'2ii.  ESSAY   IV. 

is  obedience  io  the  proper  sense  ;  it  must  (lierelbre 
be  their  own  act  and  deed,  and  consequently  they  must 
have  power  to  obey  or  to  disobey.  To  prescribe  laws 
to  them,  which  they  have  not  power  to  obey,  or  to  re- 
quire a  service  beyond  Iheir  power,  would  be  tyranny 
and  injustice  in  the  highest  degree. 

When  the  laws  are  equitable,  and  prescribed  by  just 
authority,  they  produce  moral  obligation  in  those  that 
arc  subject  to  them,  and  disobedience  is  a  crime  deserv- 
ing punishment.  But  if  the  obedience  be  impossible; 
if  the  transgression  be  necessary  ;  it  is  self  evident, 
that  there  can  be  no  moral  obligation  to  what  is  impos- 
sible, that  there  can  be  no  crime  in  yielding  to  necessi- 
ty, and  that  there  can  be  no  justice  in  punishing  a  per- 
son for  what  it  was  not  in  his  power  to  avoid.  These 
are  first  principles  in  morals,  and  to  every  unpreju- 
diced mind,  as  self-evident  as  the  axioms  of  mathemat- 
ics. The  whole  science  of  morals  must  stand  or  fall 
with  them. 

Having  thus  explained  the  nature  both  of  mechani- 
cal and  of  moral  government,  the  only  kinds  of  govern- 
ment I  am  able  to  conceive,  it  is  easy  to  see  how  far 
liberty  or  necessity  agrees  with  either. 

On  the  one  hand,  I  acknowledge,  that  necessity 
agrees  perfectly  with  mechanical  government.  This 
kind  of  government  is  most  perfect  when  the  governor 
is  the  sole  agent ;  every  thing  done  is  the  doing  of  the 
governor  only.  The  praise  of  every  thing  well  done  is 
his  solely ;  and  his  is  the  blame  if  there  be  any  thing 
ill  done,  because  he  is  tlie  sole  agent. 

It  is  true  that,  in  common  language,  praise  or  dis- 
praise is  often  metaphorically  given  to  the  work  ;  but, 
in  propriety,  it  belongs  solely  to  the  author.  Every 
workman  understands  this  perefectly,  and  takes  to 
himself  very  justly  the  praise  op  dispraise  of  his  own 
work. 


LIBERTY    CONSISTENT    WITH    GOVERNMENT.      245 

On  the  othci*  hand,  it  is  no  less  evident,  that,  on  the 
supposition  of  necessity  in  the  governed,  there  can  be 
no  moral  government.  There  can  be  neither  wisdom 
nor  equity  in  prescribing  laws  that  cannot  be  obeyed. 
There  can  be  no  moral  obligation  upon  beings  that 
have  no  active  power.  There  can  be  no  crime  in  not 
doing  what  it  was  impossible  to  do ;  nor  can  there  be 
justice  in  punishing  such  omission. 

If  we  apply  these  theoretical  principles  to  the  kinds 
of  government  which  do  actually  exist,  whether  human 
or  divine,  we  shall  find  that,  among  men,  even  mechan- 
ical government  is  imperfect. 

Men  do  not  make  the  matter  they  work  upon.  Its 
various  kinds,  and  the  qualities  belonging  to  each 
kind,  are  the  AvorkofGod.  The  laws  of  nature,  to 
which  it  is  subject,  are  the  work  of  God.  The  motions 
of  the  atmosphere  and  of  the  sea,  the  heat  and  cold  of 
the  air,  the  rain  and  wind,  which  arc  useful  instru- 
ments in  most  human  operations,  are  not  in  our  power. 
So  that,  in  all  the  mechanical  productions  of  men,  the 
work  is  more  to  be  ascribed  to  God  than  to  man. 

Civil  government  among  men  is  a  species  of  moral 
government,  but  imperfect,  as  its  lawgivers  and  its 
judges  are.  Human  laws  may  be  unwise  or  unjust^ 
human  judges  may  be  partial  or  unskilful.  But  in  all 
equitable  civil  governments,  the  maxims  of  moral  gov- 
ernment above  mentioned,  are  acknowledged  as  rules 
which  ought  never  to  be  violated.  Indeed,  the  rules  of 
justice  are  so  evident  to  all  men,  that  the  most  tyran- 
nical governments  profess  to  be  guided  by  them,  and 
endeavour  to  palliate  what  is  contrary  to  them  by  the 
plea  of  necessity. 

That  a  man  cannot  be  under  an  obligation  to  what  is 
impossible ;  that  he  cannot  be  criminal  in  yielding  to 
necessity,  nor  justly  punished  for  wliat  lie  could   not 

VOL.   IT.  32 


^iti  ESSAY    IV. 

uToid,  are  maxims  admitted,  in  all  criminal  courts  as 
fundamental  rules  of  justice. 

In  opposition  to  this,  it  lias  been  said  by  some  of  the 
most  able  defenders  of  necessity,  that  human  laws  re- 
quire no  more  to  constitute  a  crime,  but  that  it  be  vol- 
untary;  whence  it  is  inferred,  that  the  criminality  con- 
sists in  the  determination  of  the  will  whether  that  de- 
termination be  free  or  necessary.  I'liis,  1  think  indeed, 
is  the  only  possible  plea  by  which  criminality  can  be 
made  consistent  with  necessity  j  and  therefore  it  de- 
serves to  be  considered. 

I  acknowledge  that  a  crime  must  be  voluntary  ;  for, 
if  it  be  not  voluntary,  it  is  no  deed  of  the  man,  nor  can 
it  be  justly  imputed  to  him  ;  but  it  is  no  less  necessary 
that  the  criminal  Lave  moral  liberty.  In  men  that  are 
adult,  and  of  a  sound  mind,  this  liberty  is  presumed. 
But  in  every  case  where  it  cannot  be  presumed,  no 
criminality  is  imputed,  even  to  voluntary  actions. 

This  is  evident  from  the  following  instances:  1st, 
The  actions  of  brutes  appear  to  be  voluntary ;  yet  they 
are  never  conceived  to  be  criminal,  though  they  may  be 
noxious.  2dly,  Children  in  nonage  act  voluntarily, 
but  they  are  not  chargeable  with  crimes.  Sdly, 
Madmen  have  both  understanding  and  will,  but  they 
have  not  moral  liberty,  and  therefore  are  not  charge- 
able with  crimes.  4thly,  Even  in  men  that  are  adult, 
and  of  a  sound  mind,  a  motive  that  is  thought  irresisti- 
ble by  any  ordinary  degree  of  self-command,  such  as 
the  rack,  or  the  dread  of  present  death,  either  excul- 
pates, or  very  much  alleviates  a  voluntary  action,  which, 
in  other  circumstances,  would  be  highly  criminal; 
whence  it  is  evident,  that  if  the  motive  were  absolutely 
irresistible,  the  exculpation  would  be  complete.  [Note 
1 1.]  So  far  is  it  from  being  true  in  itself,  or  agreeable 
to  the  common  sense  of  mankind,  that  the  criminality 
of  an  action  depends  solely  upon 'its  being  voluntary. 


ilBERTY   CONSISTENT   WITH    GOVIiENMENT.       247 

The  government  of  brutes,  so  far  as  they  are  subject 
to  man,  is  a  species  of  mechanical  government,  or  some- 
thing very  like  to  it,  antl  has  no  resemblance  to  moral 
government.  As  inanimate  matter  is  governed  by  our 
knowledge  of  the  qualities  which  God  has  given  to  the 
various  productions  of  nature,  and  our  knowledge  of  the 
laws  of  nature  which  he  has  established ;  so  brute  ani- 
mals are  governed  by  our  knowledge  of  the  natural 
instincts,  appetites,  affections,  and  passions,  which 
God  has  given  them.  By  a  skilful  application  of 
these  springs  of  their  actions,  they  may  be  trained  to 
many  habits  useful  to  man.  After  all,  we  find  that, 
from  causes  unknown  to  us,  not  only  some  species,  hi\t 
some  individuals  of  the  same  species,  are  more  tracta- 
ble than  others. 

Children  under  age  are  governed  much  in  the  same 
way  as  the  most  sagacious  brutes.  The  opening  of 
their  intellectual  and  moral  powers,  which  may  be 
much  aided  by  proper  instruction  and  example,  is  that 
which  makes  them,  by  degrees,  capable  of  moral  govern- 
ment. 

Reason  teaches  us  to  ascribe  to  the  Supreme  Being 
a  government  of  the  inanimate  and  inactive  part  of  his 
creation,  analogous  to  that  mechanical  government 
which  men  exercise,  but  infinitely  more  perfect.  This, 
I  think,  is  what  we  call  God's  natural  government  of 
the  universe.  In  this  part  of  the  divine  government, 
whatever  is  done  is  God's  doing.  He  is  the  sole  cause, 
and  the  sole  agent,  whether  he  act  immediately,  or  by 
instruments  subordinate  to  him ;  and  his  will  is  always 
done :  for  instruments  are  not  causes,  they  are  not 
agents,  though  we  sometimes  improperly  call  them  so. 

It  is  therefore  no  less  agreeable  to  reason,  than  to  the 
language  of  holy  writ,  to  impute  to  the  Deity  whatever 
is  done  in  the  natural  world.  When  we  say  of  any 
thing,  that  it  is  the  work  of  nature,  this  is  saying 


*i8  ESSAY    IV. 

that  it  is  the  work  of  God,   and  cau  have  uo  other 
meaning. 

The  natural  world  is  a  grand  machine,  contrived, 
made,  and  governed  by  the  wisdom  and  power  of  the 
Almighty :  and  if  there  be  in  this  natural  world,  beings 
that  have  life^  intelligence,  and  will,  without  any  de- 
gree of  active  power,  they  can  only  be  subject  to  the 
same  kind  of  mechanical  government.  Their  deter- 
minations, whetlier  we  call  them  good  or  ill,  must  be 
the  actions  of  the  Supreme  Being,  as  much  as  the  pro- 
ductions of  the  earth :  for  life,  intelligence,  and  will, 
without  active  power,  can  do  nothing,  and  therefore 
nothing  can  justly  be  imputed  to  it. 

This  grand  machine  of  the  natural  world,  displays 
the  power  and  wisdom  of  the  artificer.  But  in  it, 
there  can  be  no  display  of  moral  attributes,  which  have 
a  relation  to  moral  conduct  in  his  creatures,  such  as 
justice  and  equity  in  rewarding  or  punisliing,  the  love 
of  virtue  and  abhorrence  of  wickedness:  for,  as  every 
thing  in  it  is  God's  doing,  there  can  be  no  vice  to  be 
punished  or  abhorred,  no  virtue  in  his  creatures  to  be 
rewarded. 

According  to  the  system  of  necessity,  the  whole  uni- 
verse of  creatures  is  this  natural  world ;  and  of  every 
thing  done  in  it,  God  is  the  sole  agent.  There  can  be 
no  moral  government,  nor  moral  obligation.  Laws,  re- 
wards, and  punishments,  are  only  mechanical  engines, 
and  the  will  of  the  lawgiver  is  obeyed  as  much  when 
his  laws  are  transgressed,  as  when  they  are  observed. 
Such  must  be  our  notions  of  the  government  of  the 
world,  upon  the  supposition  of  necessity.  It  must  be 
purely  mechanical,  and  there  can  be  no  moral  gov- 
ernment upon  that  hypothesis. 

Let  us  consider,  on  the  other  hand,  what  notion  of 
the  divine  government  we  are  naturally  led  into  by  the 
supposition  of  liberty. 


ilBERTY   CONSISTENT   WITH    GOVERNMENT.    249 

They  who  adopt  this  system  conceive,  that  ia  that 
small  portion  of  the  universe  which  falls  under  our 
view,  as  a  great  part  has  no  active  power,  but  moves, 
as  it  is  moved,  by  necessity,  and  therefore  must  be  sub- 
ject to  a  mechanical  government,  so  it  has  pleased  the 
Almighty  to  bestow  upon  some  of  his  creatures,  par- 
ticularly upon  man,  some  degree  of  active  power,  and 
of  reason,  to  direct  him  to  the  right  use  of  his  power. 

"What  connection  there  may  be,  in  the  nature  of 
things,  between  reason  and  active  power,  we  know  not. 
But  we  see  evidently,  that;  as  reason  without  active 
power  can  do  nothing,  so  active  power  without  reason 
has  no  guide  to  direct  it  to  any  end. 

These  two  conjoined  make  moral  liberty,  [Note  K 
K.]  which,  in  how  small  a  degree  soever  it  is  possessed, 
raises  man  to  a  superior  rank  in  the  creation  of  God. 
He  is  not  merely  a  tool  in  the  hand  of  the  master,  but 
a  servant,  in  the  proper  sense,  who  has  a  certain  trust, 
and  is  accountable  for  the  discharge  of  it.  Within  the 
sphere  of  his  power,  he  has  a  subordinate  dominion  or 
government,  and  therefore  may  be  said  to  be  made  af- 
ter the  image  of  God,  the  Supreme  Governor.  But  as 
his  dominion  is  subordinate,  he  is  under  a  moral  obli- 
gation to  make  a  right  use  of  it,  as  far  as  the  reason 
which  God  has  given  him  can  direct  him.  When  he 
does  so,  he  is  a  just  object  of  moral  approbation ;  and 
no  less  an  object  of  disapprobation  and  just  punishment 
when  he  abuses  the  power  with  which  he  is  intrusted. 
And  he  must  finally  render  an  account  of  the  talent 
committed  to  him,  to  the  Supreme  Governor  and  right- 
eous Judge. 

This  is  the  moral  government  of  God,  which,  far 
from  being  inconsistent  with  liberty,  supposes  liberty 
in  those  that  are  subject  to  it,  and  can  extend  no  fur- 
ther than  that  liberty  extends ;  for  accountablcness  can 
no  more  agree  with  necessity,  than  light  with  darkness. 


250  KSSAY    IV. 

It  ought  likewise  to  be  observed,  that  as  active  pow- 
er in  man,  and  ia  every  created  being,  is  the  gift  of  God, 
it  depends  entirely  on  his  pleasure  for  its  existence,  its 
degree,  and  its  continuance,  and  therefore  can  do  noth- 
ing which  he  does  not  see  fit  to  permit. 

Our  power  to  act  does  not  exempt  us  from  being  act- 
ed upon,  and  restrained  or  compelled  by  a  superior  pow- 
er ;  and  the  power  of  God  is  always  superior  to  that  of 
man. 

It  would  be  great  folly  and  presumption  in  us  to  pre- 
tend to  know  all  the  ways  in  which  the  government  of 
the  Supreme  Being  is  carried  on,  and  his  purposes  ac< 
complished  by  men,  acting  freely,  and  having  different 
or  opposite  purposes  in  their  view.  For,  as  the  heav- 
ens are  high  above  the  earth,  so  are  his  thoughts  above 
our  thoughts,  and  his  ways  above  our  ways. 

That  a  man  may  have  great  influence  upon  the  vol- 
untary determinations  of  other  men,  by  means  of  edu- 
cation, example  and  persuasion,  is  a  fact  which  must 
be  granted,  whether  we  adopt  the  system  of  liberty  or 
necessity.  How  far  such  determinations  ought  to  be 
imputed  to  the  person  who  applied  those  means,  how 
far  to  the  person  influenced  by  them,  we  know  not,  but 
God  knows,  and  will  judge  righteously. 

But  what  I  would  here  observe  is,  that  if  a  man  of 
superior  talents  may  have  so  great  influence  over  the 
actions  of  his  fellow  creatures,  without  taking  away 
their  liberty,  it  is  surely  reasonable  to  allow  a  mucli 
greater  influence  of  the  same  kind  to  him  who  made 
man.  Nor  can  it  ever  be  proved,  that  the  wisdom  and 
power  of  the  Almighty  are  insufiicient  for  governing 
free  agents,  so  as  to  answer  his  purposes. 

He  who  made  man  may  have  ways  of  governing  his 
determinations,  consistent  with  moral  liberty,  of  which 
we  have  no  conception.  And  he  who  gave  this  liberty 
freely,  may  lay  any  restraint  upon  it  that  is  necessary 


IIBERTY    CONSISTENT   WITH    GOVERNMENT.    251 

for  answering  his  wise  and  benevolent  purposes.  The 
Justice  of  Ms  government  requires,  that  his  creatures 
should  he  accountable  only  for  what  they  have  received, 
and  not  for  what  was  never  intrusted  to  them.  And 
we  are  sure  that  the  Judge  oj^all  the  earth  will  do  what 
is  right. 

Thus,  I  think,  it  appears,  that,  upon  the  supposition 
of  necessity,  there  can  be  no  moral  government  of  the 
universe.  Its  government  must  be  perfectly  mechan- 
ical, and  every  thing  done  in  it,  whether  good  or  ill, 
must  be  God's  doing ;  and  that,  upon  the  supposition 
of  liberty,  there  may  be  a  perfect  moral  government  of 
the  universe,  consistent  with  his  accomplishing  all  his 
purposes,  in  its  creation  and  government. 

The  arguments  to  prove  that  man  is  endowed  with 
moral  liberty,  which  have  the  greatest  weight  with  me, 
are  three :  1st,  Because  he  has  ti  natural  conviction  or 
belief,  that,  in  many  cases,  he  acts  freely ;  2dly,  Be- 
cause he  is  accountable  ;  and,  Sdly,  Because  he  is  able 
to  prosecute  an  end  by  a  long  series  of  means  adapted 
to  it.    [NoteLL.] 


252  ESSAY    IV. 

CHAP.  VI.  i 

FIRST    ARGUMENT. 

We  have,  by  our  constitution,  a  natural  conviction 
or  belief  tliat  we  act  freely.  A  conviction  so  early,  so 
universal,  and  so  necessary  in  most  of  our  rational  ope- 
rations, that  it  must  be  the  result  of  our  constitution, 
and  the  work  of  Him  that  made  us. 

Some  of  the  most  strenuous  advocates  for  the  doc- 
trine of  necessity  acknowledge,  that  it  is  impossible  to 
act  upon  it.  They  say  that  we  have  a  natural  sense  or 
conviction  that  we  act  freely,  but  that  this  is  a  falla- 
cious sense. 

This  doctrine  is  dishonorable  to  our  Maker,  and  lays 
a  foundation  for  universal  skepticism.  It  supposes  the 
Author  of  our  being  to  have  given  us  one  faculty  on 
purpose  to  deceive  us,  and  another  by  which  we  may 
detect  the  fallacy,  and  find  that  he  imposed  upon  us. 

If  any  one  of  our  natural  faculties  be  fallacious,  there 
can  be  no  reason  to  trust  to  any  of  them ;  for  he  that 
made  one  made  all. 

The  genuine  dictate  of  our  natural  faculties  is  the 
voice  of  God,  no  less  than  what  he  reveals  from  heav- 
en ;  and  to  say  that  it  is  fallacious,  is  to  impute  a  lie  to 
the  God  of  truth. 

If  candour  and  veracity  be  not  an  essential  part  of 
moral  excellence,  there  is  no  such  thing  as  moral  ex- 
cellence, nor  any  reason  to  rely  on  the  declarations  and 
promises  of  the  Almighty.  A  man  may  be  tempted  to 
lie,  but  not  without  being  conscious  of  guilt  and  of 
meanness.  Shall  we  impute  to  the  Almighty  what  we 
cannot  impute  to  a  man  without  a  heinous  affront  ? 

Passing  this  opinion,  therefore,  as  shocking  to  an  in- 
genuous mind;  and;  in  Its  consequeuces,  subversive  of 


FIRST   ARGUMENT.  25S 

all  religion*  all  morals,  ami  all  knowledge,  let  us  pro- 
ceed to  consider  the  evidence  of  our  having  a  natural 
conviction  that  we  have  some  degree  of  active  power. 

The  very  conception  or  idea  of  active  power  must 
be  derived  from  somelhingin  our  own  constitution.  It 
is  impossible  to  account  for  it  otherwise.  "We  see 
events,  but  we  see  not  the  power  that  produces  them. 
We  perceive  one  event  to  follow  another,  but  we  per- 
ceive not  the  chain  that  binds  them  together.  The  no- 
tion of  power  and  causation,  therefore,  cannot  be  got 
from  external  objects. 

Yet  the  notion  of  causes,  and  the  belief  that  every 
event  must  have  a  cause  which  had  power  to  produce 
it,  is  found  in  every  human  mind  so  firmly  established, 
that  it  cannot  be  rooted  out. 

This  notion  and  this  belief  must  have  its  origin  from 
something  in  our  constituiion  ;  and  that  it  is  natural  to 
man,  appears  from  the  following  observations. 

1st,  We  are  conscious  of  many  voluntary  exertions, 
some  easy,  others  more  difficult,  some  requiring  a  great 
effort.  These  are  exertions  of  power.  And  though  a 
man  may  be  unconscious  of  his  power  when  he  does 
not  exert  it,  he  must  have  both  the  conception  and  the 
belief  of  it,  when  he  knowingly  and  willingly  exerts  it, 
with  intention  to  produce  some  effect. 

2dly,  Deliberation  about  an  action  of  moment,  w  hetli- 
er  we  shall  do  it  or  not,^  implies  a  conviction  that  it  is 
in  our  power.  To  deliberate  about  an  end,  we  must  be 
convinced  that  the  means  are  in  our  power ;  and  to  de- 
liberate about  the  means,  we  must  be  convinced  that 
we  have  power  to  choose  the  most  proper. 

Sdly,  Suppose  our  deliberation  brought  to  an  issue, 
and  that  we  resolved  to  do  what  appeared  proper,  can 
we  form  such  a  resolution  or  purpose,  without  any 
conviction  of  power  to  execute  it  ?  No  ;  it  is  inipossihio. 

vox,  IV.  33 


^J*  ESSAY    IV. 

A  man  cannot  resolve  to  lay  out  a  sum  of  money,  which 
he  neither  has,  nor  hopes  ever  to  have. 

ithly,  Again,  when  I  plight  my  faith  in  any  promise 
OP  contract,  I  must  helieve  that  I  shall  have  power  to 
perform  what  I  promise.  Without  this  persuasion,  a 
promise  would  he  downright  fraud. 

There  is  a  condition  implied  in  every  promise,  if  we 
livCj  and  if  God  continue  rvith  us  the  power  which  he  has 
given  us.  Our  conviction,  therefore,  of  this  power  de- 
rogates not  in  the  least  from  our  dependence  upon  God, 
The  rudest  savage  is  taught  by  nature  to  admit  this 
condition  in  all  promises,  whether  it  be  expressed  or 
not.  For  it  is  a  dictate  of  common  sense,  that  we  can 
be  under  no  obligation  to  do  what  it  is  impos^ble  for 
us  to  do. 

If  we  act  upon  the  system  of  necessity,  there  must 
be  another  condition  implied  in  all  deliberation,  in 
every  resolution,  and  in  every  promise ;  and  that  is, 
if  ice  shall  be  willing.  But  the  will  not  being  in  our 
power,  we  cannot  engage  for  it. 

If  this  c^dition  be  understood,  as  it  must  be  under- 
stood if  we  act  upon  the  system  of  necessity,  there  can 
be  no  deliberation  or  resolution,  nor  any  obligation  in 
a  promise.  A  man  might  as  well  deliberate,  resolve, 
and  promise,  upon  the  actions  of  other  men  as  upon  his 
own. 

It  is  no  less  evident,  that  we  have  a  conviction  of 
power  in  other  men,  when  we  advise,  or  persuade,  or 
command,  or  conceiv<j  them  to  be  imder  obligation  by 
their  promises. 

5thly,  Is  it  possible  for  any  man  to  blame  himself 
for  yielding  to  necessity  ?  Then  he  may  blame  himself 
for  dying,  or  for  being  a  man.  Blame  supposes  a 
wrong  use  of  power ;  and  when  a  man  docs  as  well  as 
it  was  possible  for  him  to  do,  wherein  is  he  to  be  blamed  ? 
Therefore  all  conviction  of  wrong  conduct,  all  remorse 


FIRST   ARGUMENT.  25& 

and  self-condemnation,  imply  a  conviction  of  our  pow- 
er to  have  done  better.  Take  away  this  conviction, 
and  there  may  be  a  sense  of  misery,  or  a  dread  of  evil 
to  come,  but  there  can  be  no  sense  of  guilt,  or  resolu- 
tion to  do  better. 

Many  who  hold  the  doctrine  of  necessity,  disown 
these  consequences  of  it,  and  think  to  evade  them.  To 
such  they  ought  not  to  be  imputed ;  but  their  insepara- 
ble connection  with  that  doctrine  appears  self-evident ; 
and  therefore  some  late  patrons  of  it  have  had  the  bold- 
ness to  avow  them.  "  They  cannot  accuse  themselves 
of  having  done  any  thing  wrong  in  the  ultimate  sense 
of  the  words.  In  a  strict  sense,  they  have  nothing  to  do 
with  repentance,  confession,  and  pardon,  these  being 
adapted  to  a  fallacious  view  of  things." 

Those  who  can  adopt  these  sentiments,  may  indeed 
celebrate,  with  high  encomiums,  the  great  and  glorious 
doctrine  of  necessity.  It  restores  them,  in  their  own 
conceit,  to  the  state  of  innocence.  It  delivers  them 
from  all  the  pangs  of  guilt  and  remorse,  and  from  all 
fear  about  their  future  conduct,  though  not  about  their 
fate.  They  may  be  as  secure  that  they  shall  do  noth- 
ing wrong,  as  those  who  have  finished  their  course.  A 
doctrine  s,o  flattering  to  the  mind  of  a  sinner,  is  very 
apt  to  give  strength  to  weak  arguments. 

After  all,  it  is  acknowledged  by  those  who  boast  of 
this  glorious  doctrine,  "That  every  man,  let  him  use 
what  efforts  he  can,  will  necessarily  feel  tlie  senti- 
ments of  shame,  remorse,  and  reiilSntance,  and,  oppress- 
ed with  a  sense  of  guilt,  will  have  recourse  to  that 
mercy  of  which  he  stands  in  need." 

The  meaning  of  this  seems  to  me  to  be,  that  although 
the  doctrine  of  necessity  be  supported  by  invincible  ar- 
guments, and  though  it  be  the  most  consolatory  doc* 
trine  in  the  world ;  yet  no  man  in 'his  most  serious  mo- 
mentSj  when  he  sits  himself  before  the  throne  of  his 


256  ESSAY  ir. 

Maker,  can  possibly  believe  it,  but  must  then  nceessavi- 
^y  lay  aside  Ihis  glorious  doctrine,  and  all  its  flattering 
consequences,  and  return  to  the  humiliating  conviction 
of  his  having  made  a  bad  use  of  the  power  which  God 
had  given  him. 

If  the  belief  of  our  having  active  power  be  necessari- 
ly implied  in  those  rational  operations  we  have  mention- 
ed, it  must  be  coeval  with  our  reason  ;  it  must  be  as 
universal  among  men,  and  as  necessary  in  the  conduct 
pf  life,  as  those  operations  are. 

We  cannot  recollect  by  memory  when  it  began. 
It  cannot  be  a  prejudice  of  education,  or  of  false  philos- 
ophy. It  must  be  a  part  of  our  constitution,  or  the 
necessary  result  of  our  constitution,  and  therefore  the 
>vork  of  God. 

It  resembles,  in  this  respect,  our  belief  of  the  exist- 
ence of  a  material  world;  our  belief  that  those  we  con- 
verse with  are  living  and  intelligent  beings  ;  our  belief 
that  those  things  did  really  happen  which  we  distinctly 
remember,  and  our  belief  that  wc  continue  the  same 
identical  persons. 

We  find  difficulty  in  accounting  fop  our  belief  of 
these  things;  and  some  philosophers  think,  that  they 
have  discovered  good  reasons  for  throwing  it  off".  But 
it  sticks  fast,  and  the  greatest  skeptic  finds,  that  he 
must  yield  to  it  in  his  practice,  while  he  wages  war 
with  it  in  speculation. 

If  it  be  objected  to  this  argument,  that  the  belief  of 
our  acting  freely  cannot  be  implied  in  the  operations 
we  have  mentioned,  because  those  operations  are  per- 
formed by  them  who  believe  that  we  are,  in  all  our  ac- 
tions, governed  by  necessity ;  the  answer  to  this  objec- 
tion is,  that  men  in  their  practice  may  be  governed  by  a 
belief  which  in  speculation  they  reject. 

However  strange  and  unaccountable  this  may  appear, 
there  are  many  well  known  instances  of  it. 


PIRST   ARGUMENT.  267 

I  knew  a  man  who  was  as  much  convinced  as  any 
man  of  the  folly  of  the  popular  belief  of  apparitions  in 
the  dark,  yet  he  could  not  sleep  in  a  room  alone,  nor 
go  alone  into  a  room  in  the  dark.  Can  it  be  said,  that 
his  fear  did  not  imply  a  belief  of  danger?  This  is  im- 
possible. Yet  his  philosophy  convinced  him,  that  he 
was  in  no  more  danger  in  the  dark  when  alone,  than 
with  company. 

Here  an  unreasonable  belief,  which  was  merely  a 
prejudice  of  the  nursery,  stuck  so  fast  as  to  govern  his 
conduct,  in  opposition  to  his  speculative  belief  as  a  phi- 
losopher,  and  a  man  of  sense. 

There  are  few  persons  who  can  look  down  from  the 
battlement  of  a  very  high  tower  without  fear,  while 
their  reason  convinces  them  that  they  are  in  no  more 
danger  than  when  standing  upon  the  ground. 

There  have  been  persons  who  professed  to  believe  that 
thene  is  no  distinction  between  virtue  and  vice,  yet  in 
their  practice,  they  resented  injuries,  and  esteemed  no- 
ble and  virtuous  actions. 

There  have  been  skeptics  who  professed  to  disbe- 
lieve their  senses,  and  every  human  faculty;  but  no 
skeptic  was  ever  known,  who  did  not,  in  practice,  pay  a 
regard  to  his  senses  and  to  his  other  faculties. 

There  are  some  points  of  belief  so  necessary,  that, 
without  them,  a  man  would  not  be  the  being  which  God 
made  him.  These  may  be  opposed  in  speculation,  but 
it  is  impossible  to  root  them  out.  In  a  speculative  hour 
they  seem  to  vanish,  but  in  practice  they  resume  their 
authority.  This  seems  to  he  the  case  of  those  who 
hold  the  doctrine  of  necessity,  and  yet  act  as  if  they 
were  free. 

This  natural  conviction  of  some  degree  of  power  in 
ourselves  and  in  other  men,  respects  voluntary  actions 
<ynly.  For  as  all  our  power  is  directed  by  our  will,  we 
can  form  no  conception  of  power,  properly  so  called. 


S58  ESSAY   IV. 

that  is  not  vnder  the  direction  of  will.  [Note  M  M.]  And 
therefore  our  exertions,  our  deliberations,  our  purpos- 
es»  our  promises,  are  only  in  things  that  depend  upon 
ourv?ili.  Our  advices,  exhortations,  and  commands, 
are  only  in  things  that  depend  upon  the  will  of  those  to 
whom  they  are  addressed.  We  impute  no  guilt  to  our- 
selves, nor  to  others,  in  things  where  the  will  is  not 
concerned. 

But  it  deserves  our  notice,  that  we  do  not  conceive 
every  thing,  without  exception  to  be  in  a  man's  pow- 
er which  depends  upon  his  will.  There  are  many 
exceptions  to  this  general  rule.  The  most  obvious  of 
these  I  shall  mention,  because  they  both  serve  to  illus- 
trate the  rule,  and  are  of  importance  in  the  question 
concerning  the  liberty  of  man. 

In  the  rage  of  madness,  men  are  absolutely  deprived 
of  the  power  of  self-government.  They  act  voluntari- 
ly, but  their  will  is  driven  as  by  a  tempest,  which,  in 
lucid  intervals,  they  resolve  to  oppose  with  all  their 
might,  but  are  overcome  when  the  fit  of  madness  re- 
turns. 

Idiots  are  like  men  walking  in  the  dark,  who  can- 
not be  said  to  have  the  power  of  choosing  their  way, 
because  they  cannot  distinguish  the  good  road  from 
the  bad.  Having  no  light  in  their  understanding,  they 
must  either  sit  still,  or  be  carried  on  by  some  blind  im- 
pulse. 

Between  the  darkness  of  infancy,  which  is  equal  to 
that  of  idiots,  and  the  maturity  of  reason,  there  is  a 
long  twilight  which,  by  insensible  degrees,  advances  to 
the  perfect  day. 

In  this  period  of  life,  man  has  but  little  of  the  power 
of  self-government.  His  actions,  by  nature,  as  well  as 
by  the  laws  of  society,  are  in  the  power  of  others  more 
than  in  his  own.  His  folly  and  indiscretion,  his  levity 
and  inconstancyf  are  considered  as  the  fault  of  youth, 


FIRST   ARGUMENT* 

rather  than  of  the  man.  We  consider  him  as  half  a 
man  and  half  a  child,  and  expect  that  each  by  turns 
should  play  its  part.  He  would  be  thought  a  severe 
and  unequitable  censor  of  manners,  who  required  the 
same  cool  deliberation,  the  same  steady  conduct,  and 
the  same  mastery  over  himself  in  a  boy  of  thirteen,  as 
in  a  man  of  thirty^ 

It  is  an  old  adage,  that  violent  anger  is  a  short  fit  of 
madness.  If  this  be  literally  true  in  any  case,  a  man 
in  such  a  fit  of  passion,  cannot  be  said  to  have  the  com- 
mand of  himself.  If  real  madness  could  be  proved, 
it  must  have  the  cfiect  of  madness  while  it  lasts, 
whether  it  be  for  an  hour  or  for  life.  But  the  mad- 
ness of  a  short  fit  of  passion,  if  it  be  really  madness, 
is  incapable  of  proof;  and  therefore  is  not  admitted 
in  human  tribunals  as  an  exculpation.  And,  I  believe, 
there  is  no  case  where  a  man  can  satisfy  his  own 
mind  that  his  passion,  both  in  its  beginning  and  in  its 
progress,  was  irresistible.  [Note  N  N.]  The  Searcher 
of  hearts  alone  knows  infallibly  what  allowance  is  due 
in  cases  of  this  kind. 

But  a  violent  passion,  though  it  may  not  be  irresist- 
ible, is  difScult  to  be  resisted :  and  a  man,  surely» 
has  not  the  same  power  over  himself  in  passion,  as 
when  he  is  cool.  On  this  account  it  is  allowed  by  all 
men  to  alleviate,  when  it  cannot  exculpate ;  and  has 
its  weight  in  criminal  courts,  as  well  as  in  private  judg- 
ment. 

It  ought  likewise  to  be  observed,  that  he  who  has 
accustomed  himself  to  restrain  his  passions,  enlarges 
by  habit  his  power  over  them,  and  consequently  over 
himself.  When  we  consider  that  a  Canadian  savage 
can  acquire  the  power  of  defying  death,  in  its  most 
dreadful  forms,  and  of  braving  the  most  exquisite  tor- 
ment for  many  long  hours,  without  losing  the  com- 
mand of  himself:  we  may  learr\  from  this,  that>  in 


260  ESSAY   IV* 

(he  constitution  of  human  nature^  there  is  ample 
scope  for  the  enlargemeut  of  that  power  of  self-com- 
mand, without  which  there  can  be  no  virtue  nor  mag- 
nanimity. 

There  are  cases,  however,  in  which  a  man's  volun- 
tary actions  are  thought  to  be  very  little,  if  at  all,  in 
his  power,  on  account  of  the  violence  of  the  motive 
that  impels  him.  The  magnanimity  of  a  hero,  or  of  a 
martyr,  is  not  expected  in  every  man,  and  on  all  occa- 
sions. 

If  a  man  trusted  by  the  government  with  a  secret, 
which  it  is  high  treason  to  disclose,  be  prevailed  upon 
by  a  bribe,  we  have  no  mercy  for  him,  and  hardly 
allow  the  greatest  bribe  to  be  any  alleviation  of  his 
crime. 

But,  on  the  other  hand,  if  the  secret  be  extorted 
by  the  rack,  or  by  the  dread  of  present  death,  we 
pity  him  more  than  we  blame  him,  and  would  think 
it  severe  and  unequitable  to  condemn  him  as  a  trai- 
tor. 

What  is  the  reason  that  all  men  agree  in  condem- 
ning this  man  as  a  traitor  in  the  first  case,  and  in  the 
last,  either  exculpate  him,  or  think  his  fault  greatly 
alleviated  ?  [Note  O  O.]  If  he  acted  necessarily  in  both 
oases,  compelled  by  an  irresistible  motive,  I  can  see  no 
reason  why  we  should  not  pass  the  same  judgment  on 
both. 

But  the  reason  of  these  different  judgments  is  evi- 
dently this,  that  the  love  of  money,  and  of  what  is  call- 
ed a  man's  interest,  is  a  cool  motive,  which  leaves  to  a 
man  the  entire  power  over  himself:  but  the  torment 
of  the  rack,  or  the  dread  of  present  death,  are  so  vio- 
lent motives,  that  men  who  have  not  uncommon  strength 
of  mind,  are  not  masters  of  themselves  in  such  a  situa- 
tion, and  therefore  what  they  do  is  not  imputed,  or  is 
thought  less  crimraal. 


FIRST    ARGUMENT.  361 

If  a  man  resist  such  motives,  we  admire  his  forti- 
tude, and  think  his  conduct  heroical  rather  than  hu- 
man. If  he  yields,  we  impute  it  to  human  frailty, 
and  think  him  rather  to  be  pitied  than  severely  cen- 
sured. 

Inveterate  habits  arc  acknowledged  to  diminish  very 
considerably  the  power  a  man  has  over  himself.  Al- 
though we  may  think  him  higlily  blameable  in  acquir- 
ing them,  yet  when  they  are  confirmed  to  a  certain  de- 
gree, we  consider  him  as  no  longer  master  of  himself, 
and  hardly  reclaimable  without  a  miracle. 

Thus  we  see,  that  the  power  which  we  are  led  by 
common  sense  to  ascribe  to  man,  respects  his  voluntary 
actions  only,  and  that  it  has  various  limitations  even 
with  regard  to  them.  Some  actions  that  depend  upon 
our  will  are  easy,  others  very  difficult,  and  some,  per- 
haps, beyond  our  power.  In  different  men,  the  power 
of  self-goverment  is  different,  and  in  the  same  man  at 
different  times.  It  may  be  diminished,  or  perhaps  lost, 
by  bad  habits ;  [Note  P  P.]  it  may  be  greatly  increased 
by  good  habits. 

These  are  facts  attested  by  experience,  and  support- 
ed by  the  common  judgment  of  mankind.  Upon  the 
system  of  liberty,  they  are  perfectly  intelligible ;  but, 
I  think,  irreconcileable  to  that  of  necessity  ;  for,  how 
can  there  be  an  easy  and  a  difficult  in  actions  equally 
subject  to  necessity  ?  or,  how  can  power  be  greater  or 
less,  increased  or  diminished,  in  those  who  have  no  pow- 
er ? 

This  natural  conviction  of  our  acting  freely,  which 
is  acknowledged  by  many  who  hold  the  doctrine  of  ne- 
cessity, ought  to  throw  the  whole  burden  of  proof 
upon  that  side :  for,  by  this,  the  side  of  liberty  has 
what  lawyers  call  ajus  qucesitum,  or  a  right  of  ancient 
possession,  which  ought  to  stand  good  till  it  be  over 

voTi.  IV.  Si* 


262  ESSAY   IV. 

turned.  If  it  cannot  be  proved  lliat  we  always  act 
from  necessity,  there  is  no  need  of  arguments  on  the 
other  side,  to  convince  us  that  we  are  free  agents. 

To  illustrate  this  by  a  similar  case  :  if  a  philosopher 
would  persuade  me,  that  my  fdlow  men  with  whom  I 
converse,  are  not  thinking  intelligent  beings,  but  mere 
machines ;  though  I  might  be  at  a  loss  to  find  argu- 
ments against  this  strange  opinion^  I  should  think  it 
reasonable  to  hold  the  belief  which  nature  gave  me  be- 
fore I  was  capable  of  weighing  evidence^  until  con- 
vincing proof  is  brought  against  it. 


SECOND   ARGUMENT.  ^SS 

CHAP.    VIL 

SECOND  ARGUMENT. 

That  there  is  a  real  and  essential  distinction  be- 
tween right  and  wrong  conduct,  between  just  and  un- 
just ;  that  the  most  perfect  moral  rectitude  is  to  be  as- 
cribed to  the  Deity ;  that  man  is  a  moral  and  accounta- 
ble being*  capable  of  acting  right  and  wrong,  and 
answerable  for  his  conduct  to  him  who  made  him,  and 
assigned  him  a  part  to  act  upon  the  stage  of  life;  are 
principles  proclaimed  by  every  man's  conscience  ;  prin- 
ciples upon  which  the  systems  of  morality  and  natural 
religion,  as  well  as  the  system  of  revelation,  are  grounded, 
and  which  have  been  generally  acknowledged  by  those 
who  hold  contrary  opinions  on  the  subject  of  human 
liberty.     I  shall  therefore  here  take  them  for  granted. 

These  principles  afford  an  obvious,  and,  I  think,  an 
invincible  argument,  that  man  is  endowed  with  moral 
liberty. 

Two  things  [Note  QQ.]  are  implied  in  the  notion  of 
a  moral  and  accountable  being,  understanding  and 
active  power. 

1st,  He  must  understand  the  law  to  which  he  is 
bound,  and  his  obligation  to  obey  it.  Moral  obedience 
must  be  voluntary,  and  must  regard  the  authority  of 
the  law.  I  may  command  my  horse  to  eat  when  he 
hungers,  and  drink  when  he  thirsts.  He  does  so  ;  but 
his  doing  it  is  no  moral  obedience.  He  does  not  under- 
stand my  command,  and  therefore  can  have  no  will  to 
obey  it.  He  has  not  the  conception  of  moral  obliga- 
tion, and  therefore  cannot  act  from  the  conviction  of  it. 
In  eating  and  drinking,  he  is  moved  by  his  own  appetite 
only,  and  not  by  my  authority. 

Brute  animals  are  incapable  of  moral  obligation,  be- 
cause they  have  not  that  degree  of  understanding  which 


26i  ESSAY    IV. 

it  implies.  They  have  not  the  conception  of  a  rule  of 
coaduct,  and  of  obligation  to  obey  it,  and  therefore, 
though  they  may  be  noxious,  they  cannot  be  criminal. 

Man,  by  his  rational  nature,  is  capable  both  of  un- 
derstanding the  law  that  is  prescribed  to  him,  and  of 
perceiving  its  obligation.  He  knows  what  it  is  to  be 
just  and  honest,  to  injure  no  man,  and  to  obey  his 
Maker.  From  his  constitution,  he  has  an  immediate 
conviction  of  his  obligation  to  these  things.  He  has 
the  approbation  of  his  conscience  when  he  acts  by  these 
rules ;  and  he  is  conscious  of  guilt  and  demerit  when 
he  transgresses  them.  And,  without  this  knowledge 
of  his  duty  and  his  obligation,  he  would  not  be  a  moral 
and  accountable  being. 

2dly,  Another  thing  implied  in  the  notion  of  a  moral 
and  accountable  being,  is  power  to  do  what  he  is  ac- 
countable for. 

That  no  man  can  be  under  a  moral  obligation  to  do 
what  it  is  impossible  for  him  to  do,  or  to  forbear  what 
it  is  impossible  for  him  to  forbear,  is  an  axiom  as  self- 
evident  as  any  in  mathematics.  It  cannot  be  contra- 
dicted, without  over-turning  all  notion  of  moral  obliga- 
tion ;  nor  can  there  be  any  exception  to  it,  when  it  is 
rightly  understood. 

Some  moralists  have  mentioned  what  they  conceive 
to  be  an  exception  to  this  maxim.  The  exception  is 
this.  "When  a  man,  by  his  own  fault,  has  disabled  him- 
self from  doing  his  duty,  his  obligation,  they  say,  re- 
mains, though  he  is  now  unable  to  discharge  it.  Thus, 
if  a  man  by  sumptuous  living  has  become  bankrupt, 
his  inability  to  pay  his  debt  does  not  take  away  his 
obligation. 

To  judge  whether,  in  this  and  similar  cases,  there 
be  any  exception  to  the  axiom  above  mentioned,  they 
must  be  stated  accurately. 

No  doubt  a  man  is  highly  criminal  in  living  above 
his  fortune,  and  his  crime  is  greatly  aggravated  by  the 


SECOND    AKGUMENT.  265 

circumstaiice  of  his  being  thereby  unable  to  pay  his 
just  debt.  Let  us  suppose,  therefore,  that  he  is  punish- 
ed for  this  crime  as  much  as  it  deserves ;  that  his 
goods  are  fairly  distributed  among  his  creditors,  and 
that  one  half  remains  unpaid ;  let  us  suppose  also, 
that  he  adds  no  new  crime  to  what  is  past,  that  he  be- 
comes a  new  man,  and  not  only  supports  himself  by 
honest  industry,  but  does  all  in  his  power  to  pay  what 
he  still  owes. 

I  would  now  ask,  is  he  further  punishable,  and  really 
guilty  for  not  paying  more  than  he  is  able  ?  Let  every 
man  consult  his  conscience,  and  say  whether  he  can 
blame  this  man  for  not  doing  more  than  he  is  able  to  do. 
His  guilt  before  his  bankruptcy  is  out  of  the  question^ 
as  he  has  received  the  punishment  due  for  it.  But 
that  his  subsequent  conduct  is  unblameable,  every  man 
must  allow ;  and  that,  in  his  present  state,  he  is  ac- 
countable for  no  more  than  he  is  able  to  do.  His  ob- 
ligation is  not  cancelled,  [Note  R  R.]  it  returns  with  his 
ability,  and  can  go  no  further. 

Suppose  a  sailor,  employed  in  the  navy  of  his  country, 
and  longing  for  the  ease  of  a  public  hospital  as  an  in- 
valid, to  cut  off  his  fingers,  so  as  to  disable  him  from 
doing  the  duty  of  a  sailor ;  he  is  guilty  of  a  great 
crime  ;  but,  after  he  has  been  punished  according  to 
the  demerit  of  his  crime,  will  his  captain  insist  that  he 
shall  still  do  the  duty  of  a  sailor  ?  Will  he  command 
him  to  go  aloft  when  it  is  impossible  for  him  to  do  it, 
and  punish  him  as  guilty  of  disobedience  ?  Surely  if 
there  be  any  such  thing  as  justice  and  injustice,  this 
would  be  unjust  and  wanton  cruehy. 

Suppose  a  servant,  through  negligence  and  inatten- 
tion, mistakes  the  orders  given  him  by  his  master,  and, 
from  this  mistake,  does  what  he  was  ordered  not  to  do. 
It  is  commonly  said  that  culpable  ignorance  does  not 
excuse  a  fault :  this  decision  is  inaccurate,  because  it 


266  ESSAY     IT. 

does  not  show  where  the  fault  lies :  the  fault  was  solelj 
in  that  inattention,  or  negligence,  which  was  the  occa- 
sion of  his  mistake:  there  was  no  subsequent  fault. 

This  becomes  evident,  when  we  varj'  the  case  so  far 
as  to  suppose,  that  he  was  unavoidably  led  into  the 
mistake  without  any  fault  on  his  part.  Uis  mistake 
is  now  invincible,  and,  in  the  opinion  of  all  moralists, 
takes  away  all  blame;  yet  this  new  case  supposes  no 
change,  but  in  the  cause  of  his  mistake.  Uis  subse- 
quent conduct  was  the  same  in  both  cases.  The  fault 
therefore  lay  solely  in  the  negligence  and  inattention 
which  was  the  cause  of  his  mistake. 

The  axiom,  that  invincible  ignorance  takes  away  all 
blame,  is  only  a  particular  case  of  the  general  axiom, 
that  there  can  be  no  moral  obligation  to  what  is  im- 
possible ;  the  former  is  grounded  upon  the  latter,  and 
can  have  no  other  foundation. 

I  shall  put  only  one  case  more.  Suppose  that  a 
man,  by  excess  and  intemperance,  has  entirely  de- 
stroyed his  rational  faculties,  so  as  to  have  become 
perfectly  mad  or  idiotical ;  suppose  him  forewarned  of 
his  danger,  and  that,  though  he  foresaw  that  this  must 
be  the  consequence,  he  went  on  still  in  his  criminal  in- 
dulgence. A  greater  crime  can  hardly  be  supposed^ 
or  more  deserving  of  severe  punishment  ?  Suppose 
him  punished  as  he  deserves ;  will  it  be  said,  that  the 
duty  of  a  man  is  incumbent  upon  him  now,  when  he 
has  not  the  faculties  of  a  man,  or  that  he  incurs  new 
guilt  when  he  is  not  a  moral  agent  ?  Surely  we  may 
as  well  suppose  a  plaut,  or  a  clod  of  earth,  to  be  a  sub- 
ject of  moral  duty. 

The  decisions  I  have  given  of  these  cases,  are 
grounded  upon  the  fundamental  principles  of  morals, 
the  most  immediate  dictates  of  conscience.  If  these 
principles  are  given  up,  all  moral  reasoning  is  at  an 
end,  and  no  distinction  is  left  between  what  is  just  and 


SECOND    ABGUMBNT.  367 

what  is  unjust.  And  it  is  evident,  that  none  of  these 
cases  furnishes  any  exception  to  the  axiom  above  men- 
tioned. No  moral  obligation  can  be  consistent  with 
impossibility  in  the  performance. 

Active  power,  therefore,  is  necessarily  implied  in 
the  very  notion  of  a  moral  accountable  being.  And 
if  man  be  such  a  being,  he  must  have  a  degree  of  ac- 
tive power  proportioned  to  the  account  he  is  to  make. 
He  may  have  a  model  of  perfection  set  before  him 
which  he  is  unable  to  reach ;  but,  if  he  does  to  the 
utmost  of  his  power,  this  is  all  he  can  be  answerable  for. 
To  incur  guilt,  by  not  going  beyond  his  power,  is  im- 
possible. 

What  was  said,  in  the  first  argument,  of  the  limita- 
tion of  our  power,  adds  much  strength  to  the  present 
argument.  A  man's  power,  it  was  observed,  extends 
only  to  his  voluntary  actions,  and  has  many  limitations, 
even  with  respect  to  them. 

His  accountableness  has  the  same  extent,  and  the 
same  limitations. 

In  the  rage  of  madness  ho  has  no  power  over  him- 
self, neither  is  he  accountable,  or  capable  of  moral  ob- 
ligation. In  ripe  age,  man  is  accountable  in  a  greater 
degree  than  in  non-age,  because  his  power  over  him- 
self is  greater.  Yiolent  passions,  and  violent  motives  al- 
leviate what  is  done  through  their  influence,  in  the  same 
proportion  as  they  diminish  the  power  of  resistance. 

There  is,  therefore,  a  perfect  correspondence  be- 
tween power,  on  the  one  hand,  and  moral  obligation 
and  accountableness,  on  the  other.  They  not  only  cor- 
r^pond  in  general,  as  they  respect  voluntary  actions 
only,  but  every  limitation  of  the  first  produces  a  corres- 
ponding limitation  of  the  two  last.  This,  indeed, 
amounts  to  nothing  more  than  that  maxim  of  common 
sense,  confirmed  by  Divine  authority,  that  to  whom 
much  is  given,  of  him  much  will  be  required. 


268  ESSAY   IV. 

The  sum  of  this  argument  is,  that  a  certain  degree 
of  active  power  is  the  talent  which  God  has  given  to 
every  rational  accountable  creature,  and  of  which  he 
will  require  an  accounts  If  man  had  no  power,  he 
would  have  nothing  to  account  for.  All  wise  and  all 
foolish  conduct,  all  virtue  and  vice,  consist  in  the  right 
use  or  in  the  abuse  of  that  power  which  God  has  given 
us.  If  man  had  no  power,  he  could  neither  be  wise  nor 
foolish,  virtuous  nor  vicious. 

If  we  adopt  the  system  of  necessity,  the  terms  inoral 
obligation,  and  accountableness,  praise  and  blame,  merit 
and  demerit,  justice  and  injustice,  reward,  and  punish- 
ment, wisdom  and  folly,  virtue  and  vice,  ought  to  be 
disused,  or  to  have  new  meanings  given  to  them  when 
they  are  used  in  religion,  in  morals,  or  in  civil  govern- 
ment ;  for  upon  that  system,  there  can  be  no  such  things 
as  they  have  been  always  used  to  signify. 


THIKD    ARGUMENT.  269 


CHAP.  VIII. 


THIRD   ARGUMENT. 


That  man  has  power  over  his  own  actions  and  vo- 
litions appears.,  because  he  is  capable  of  carrying  on, 
wisely  and  prudently,  a  system  of  conduct,  which  he  has 
before  conceived  in  his  mind,  and  resolved  to  prosecute. 
[Note  S  S.] 

I  take  if  for  granted,  that,  among  the  various  char- 
acters of  men,  there  have  been  some,  who,  after  they 
came  to  years  of  understanding,  deliberately  laid 
down  a  plan  of  conduct,  which  they  resolved  to  pur- 
sue through  life  ;  and  that  of  these,  some  have  stead- 
ily pursued  the  end  they  had  in  view,  by  the  proper 
means. 

It  is  of  no  consequence  in  this  argument,  whether 
one  has  made  the  best  choice  of  his  main  end  or  not ; 
whether  his  end  be  riches,  or  power,  or  fame,  or  the 
approbation  of  his  Maker.  I  suppose  only,  that  he 
has  prudently  and  steadily  pursued  it ;  that,  in  a  long 
course  of  deliberate  actions,  he  has  taken  the  means 
that  appieared  most  conducive  to  his  end,  and  avoided 
whatever  might  cross  it. 

That  such  conduct  in  a  man  demonstrates  a  certain 
degree  of  wisdom  and  understanding,  no  man  ever 
doubted^  and,  I  say,  it  demonstrates,  with  equal  force, 
a  certain  degree  of  power  over  his  voluntary  determina- 
tions. 

This  will  appear  evident,  if  we  consider,  that  under 
standing  without  power  may  project,  but  can  execute 
nothing.  A  regular  plan  of  conduct,  as  it  cannot  be 
contrived  without  understanding,  so  it  cannot  be  car- 
ried into  execution  without  power ;  and,  therefore,  the 
execution,  as  an  effect,  demonstrates,  with  equal  force, 

voT;.  IV.  35 


-~l>  £;SSA¥   IV. 

both  power  and  uuderstanding  in  the  cause.  Every 
indication  of  wisdom,  taken  from  the  effect,  is  equally 
an  indication  of  power  to  execute  what  wisdom  plan- 
ned. And,  if  we  have  any  evidence  that  the  wisdom 
which  formed  the  plan  is  in  the  man,  we  have  the  very 
same  evidence,  that  the  power  which  executed  it  is  in 
him  also. 

In  this  argument,  we  reason  from  the  same  princi- 
ples, as  in  demonstrating  the  being  and  perfections  of 
the  First  Cause  of  all  things. 

The  effects  we  observe  in  the  course  of  nature,  re- 
quire a  cause.  Effects,  wisely  adapted  to  an  end,  require 
a  wise  cause.  Every  indication  of  the  wisdom  of  the 
Creator  is  equally  an  indication  of  his  power.  His 
wisdom  appears  only  in  the  works  done  by  his  power ; 
for  wisdom  without  power  may  speculate,  but  it 
cannot  act;  it  may  plan,  but  it  cannot  execute  its 
plans. 

The  same  reasoning  we  apply  to  the  works  of  men. 
In  a  stately  palace  we  see  the  wisdom  of  the  architect. 
His  wisdom  contrived  it,  and  wisdom  could  do  no  more. 
The  execution  required,  both  a  distinct  conception  of 
the  plan,  and  power  to  operate  according  to  that 
plan. 

Let  us  apply  these  principles  to  the  supposition  we 
have  made.  That  a  man,  in  a  long  course  of  conduct, 
has  determined  and  acted  prudently  in  the  prosecution 
of  a  certain  end.  If  the  man  had  both  the  wisdom  to 
plan  this  course  of  conduct,  and  that  power  over  his 
own  actions  that  was  necessary  to  carry  it  into  execu- 
tion, he  is  a  free  agent,  and  used  his  liberty,  in  this  in- 
stance, with  understanding. 

But  if  all  his  particular  determinations,  which  con- 
curred in  the  execution  of  this  plan,  were  produced, 
not  by  himself,  but  by  some  cause  acting  necessarily 
upon  him,  then  there  is  no  evidence  left  that  he  con- 


THIRD    ARGUMENT.  27t 

ti'ivcd  this  plan,  or  that  he   ever   spent  a  thought 
ahout  it. 

The  cause  that  directed  all  these  determinations  so 
wisely,  whatever  it  was,  must  be  a  wise  and  intelligent 
cause ;  it  must  have  understood  the  plan^  and  have  in- 
tended the  execution  of  it. 

If  it  be  said,  that  all  this  course  of  determinations 
was  produced  by  motives  ;  motives  surely  have  not  un- 
derstanding to  conceive  a  plan,  and  intend  its  execution. 
"We  must  therefore  go  back  beyond  motives  to  some  in- 
telligent being  who  had  the  power  of  arranging  those 
motives,  and  applying  them,  in  their  proper  order  and 
season,  so  as  to  bring  about  the  end. 

This  intelligent  being  must  have  understood  the 
plan,  arid  intended  to  execute  it.  If  this  be  so,  as  the 
man  had  no  hand  in  the  execution,  we  have  not  any  evi- 
dence left,  that  he  had  any  hand  in  the  contrivance,  or 
even  that  he  is  a  thinking  being. 

If  we  can  believe,  tbat  an  extensive  series  of  means 
may  conspire  to  promote  an  end  without  a  cause  that 
intended  the  end,  and  had  power  to  choose  and  apply 
those  means  for  the  purpose,  we  may  as  well  believe, 
that  this  world  was  made  by  a  fortuitous  concourse  of 
atoms,  without  an  intelligent  and  powerful  cause. 

If  a  lucky  concourse  of  motives  could  produce  tlie 
conduct  of  an  Alexander  or  a  Julius  Caesar,  no  reason 
can  be  given  why  a  lucky  concourse  of  atoms  might  not 
produce  the  planetary  system. 

If,  therefore,  wise  conduct  in  a  man  demonstrates, 
that  he  has  some  degree  of  wisdom,  it  demonstrates, 
with  equal  force  and  evidence,  that  he  has  some  degree 
of  power  over  his  own  determinations. 

All  the  reason  we  can  assign  for  believing  that  our 
fellow  men  think  and  reason,  is  grounded  upon  their 
actions  and  speeches.     If  they  are  not  the  cause  of 


272  ESSAY    IV. 

these,  there  is  no  reason  left  to   conclude  that  they 
think  and  reason. 

Des  Cartes  thought  that  the  human  hody  is  merely 
a  mechanical  engine,  and  that  all  its  motions  and  ac- 
tions are  produced  hy  mechanism.  If  such  a  machine 
could  be  made  to  speak  and  to  act  rationally,  we  might 
indeed  conclude  with  certainty,  that  the  maker  of  it  had 
both  reason  and  active  power;  but  if  we  once  knew, 
that  all  the  motions  of  the  machine  were  purely  me- 
chanical, we  sliould  have  no  reason  to  conclude  that 
the  roan  had  reason  or  thought. 

The  conclusion  of  this  argument  is,  that,  if  the  ac- 
tions and  speeches  of  other  men  give  us  sufBcient  evi- 
dence that  they  are  reasonable  beings,  they  give  us  the 
same  evidence,  and  the  same  degree  of  evidence,  that 
they  are  free  agents. 

There  is  another  conclusion  that  may  be  drawn  from 
this  reasoning,  which  it  is  proper  to  mention. 

Suppose  a  Fatalist,  rather  than  give  up  the  scheme 
of  necessity,  should  acknowledge  that  he  has  no  evi- 
dence that  there  is  thought  and  reason  in  any  of  his 
fellow  men,  and  that  they  may  be  mechanical  engines 
foi*  all  that  lie  knows ;  he  will  be  forced  to  acknowl- 
edge, that  there  must  be  active  power,  as  well  as  un- 
derstanding, in  the  maker  of  those  engines,  and  that 
the  first  cause  is  a  free  agent.  We  have  the  same  rea- 
son to  believe  this,  as  to  believe  hie  existence  and  his 
wisdom.  And,  if  the  Deity  acts  freely,  every  argument 
brought  to  prove  that  freedom  of  action  is  impossible, 
must  fall  to  the  ground. 

The  First  Cause  gives  us  evidence  of  his  power  by 
every  effect  that  gives  us  evidence  of  his  wisdom.  And, 
if  he  is  pleased  lo  communicate  to  the  work  of  his 
hands  some  degree  of  his  wisdom,  no  reason  can  be  as- 
signed why  he  may  not  communicate  some  degree  of 
his  power,  as  the  talent  which  wisdom  is  to  employ. 


THIRD   ARGUMENT.  373 

That  the  first  motion,  or  the  first  effect,  tvhatever  it 
be,  cannot  be  produced  necessarily,  and  consequently, 
that  the  first  cause  must  be  a  free  agent,  has  been  de- 
montrated  so  clearly  and  unanswerably  by  Dr.  Clarke, 
both  in  his  Demonstration  of  the  being  and  attributes 
of  God,  and  in  the  end  of  his  remarks  on  Collin's  Philo- 
sophical Inquiry  concerning  Human  Liberty,  that  I  can 
add  nothing  to  what  he  has  said ;  nor  have  I  found  any 
objection  made  to  his  reasoningi  by  any  of  the  defenders 
of  necessity. 


274  ESSAir  IV. 

CHAP.  IX. 

OF  ARGUMENTS    TOR   NECESSITY. 

Some  of  the  arguments  that  have  been  offered  for 
necessity  were  already  considered  in  this  Essay. 

It  has  been  said,  that  human  liberty  respects  only 
the  actions  that  are  subsequent  to  volition ;  and  that 
power  over  the  determinations  of  the  will  is  inconceiv- 
able, and  involves  a  contradiction.  This  argument 
was  considered  in  the  first  chapter. 

It  has  been  said,  that  liberty  is  inconsistent  with  the 
influence  of  motives,  that  it  would  make  human  ac- 
tions capricious,  and  man  ungovernable  by  God  or  man. 
These  arguments  were  considered  in  the  fourth  and 
fifth  chapters. 

I  am  now  to  make  some  remarks  upon  other  argu- 
ments that  have  been  urged  in  this  cause.  They  may, 
I  think,  be  reduced  to  three  classes.  They  are  intend- 
ed to  prove,  either  that  liberty  of  determination  is  im- 
possible, or  that  it  would  be  hurtful,  or  that,  in  fact, 
man  has  no  such  liberty. 

To  prove  that  liberty  of  determination  is  impossible, 
it  has  been  said,  that  there  must  be  a  sufficient  reason 
for  every  thing.  For  every  existence,  for  every  event, 
for  every  truth,  there  must  be  a  sufficient  reason. 

The  famous  German  philosopher  Leibnitz  boasted 
much  of  having  first  applied  this  principle  to  philoso- 
phy, and  of  having,  by  that  means,  changed  metaphys- 
ics from  being  a  play  of  unmeaning  words,  to  be  a  ra- 
tional and  demonstrative  science.  On  this  account  it 
deserves  to  be  considered. 

A  very  obvious  objection  to  this  principle  was,  that 
two  or  more  mean:j  may  be  equally  fit  for  the  same 
end  ;  and  that.,  in  such  a  case,  there  may  be  a  sufficient 


or   ARGUMENTS   FOR   NECESSITY.  275, 

reason  for  taking  one  of  the  number,  though  there  be 
no  reason  for  preferring  one  to  another,  of  means  equal* 
ly  fit. 

To  obviate  this  objection,  Leibnitz  maintained,  that 
the  case  supposed  could  not  happen  ;  or,  if  it  did,  that 
none  of  the  means  could  be  used,  for  want  of  a  sufficient 
reason  to  prefer  one  to  the  rest.  Therefore  he  deter- 
mined, with  some  of  the  schoolmen,  that  if  an  ass  could 
be  placed  between  two  bundles  of  hay,  or  two  fields  of 
grass,  equally  inviting,  the  poor  beast  would  certainly 
stand  still  and  starve  ;  but  the  case,  he  says  could  not 
happen  without  a  miracle. 

When  it  was  objected  to  this  principle,  that  there 
could  be  no  reason  but  the  will  of  God  why  the  mate- 
rial world  was  placed  in  one  part  of  unlimited  space 
rather  than  another,  or  created  at  one  point  of  unlim- 
ited duration  rather  than  another,  or  why  the  planets 
should  move  from  west  to  east,  rather  than  in  a  con- 
trary direction ;  these  objections  Leibnitz  obviated  by 
maintaining,  that  there  is  no  such  thing  as  unoccupied 
space  or  duration ;  that  space  is  nothing  but  the  order 
of  things  co-existing,  and  duration  is  nothing  but  the 
order  of  things  successive ;  that  all  motion  is  relative, 
so  that  if  .there  were  only  one  body  in  the  universe,  it 
^vould  be  immoveable;  that  it  is  inconsistent  with 
the  perfection  of  the  Deity,  that  there  should  be  any 
part  of  space  unoccupied  by  body ;  and,  I  suppose,  he 
understood  the  same  of  every  part  of  duration.  So 
that,  according  to  this  system,  the  world,  like  its 
Author,  must  be  infinite,  eternal,  and  immoveable  ,*  or, 
at  least,  as  great  in  extent  and  duration  as  it  is  possible 
for  it  to  be. 

When  it  was  objected  to  the  principle  of  a  sufficient 
reason,  that  of  two  particles  of  matter  perfectly  sim- 
ilar, there  can  be  no  reason  but  the  will  of  God  for 
placing  this  here  and  that  there  ;  this  objection  Leib- 


2>76  ESSAY  IV. 

nitz  obviated  by  maintaining,  that  it  is  impossible  that 
there  can  be  two  particles  of  matter,  or  any  two  things 
perfectly  similar.  And  this  seems  to  have  led  him  to 
another  of  his  grand  principles,  which  he  calls,  The  iden- 
tity  qfindisceimibles. 

"When  the  principle  of  a  sufficient  reason  had  pro- 
duced so  many  surprizing  discoveries  in  philosophy,  it 
is  no  wonder  that  it  should  determine  the  long  disputed 
question  about  human  liberty.  This  it  does  in  a  mo- 
ment. The  determination  of  the  will  is  an  event  for 
which  there  must  be  a  sufficient  reason,  that  is,  some- 
thing previous,  which  was  necessarily  followed  by  that 
determination,  and  could  not  be  followed  by  any  other 
determination ;  therefore  it  was  necessary. 

Thus  we  see,  that  this  principle  of  the  necessity  of 
a  sHfficient  reason  for  every  thing,  is  very  fruitful  of 
consequences;  and  by  its  fruits  we  may  judge  of  it. 
Those  who  will  adopt  it,  must  adopt  all  the  conse- 
quences that  hang  upon  it.  To  fix  them  all  beyond 
dispute,  no  more  is  necessary  but  to  prove  the  truth  of 
the  principle  on  which  they  depend. 

I  know  of  no  argument  offered  by  Leibnitz  in  proof 
of  this  principle,  but  the  authority  of  Archimedes,  who, 
he  says,  makes  use  of  it  to  prove,  that  a  balance  load- 
ed with  equal  weights  on  both  ends  will  continue  at 
rest. 

I  grant  it  to  be  good  reasoning  with  regard  to  a  bal- 
ance, or  with  regard  to  any  machine,  that  when  there 
is  no  external  cause  of  its  motion,  it  must  remain  at 
rest,  because  the  machine  has  no  power  of  moving  it- 
self. But  to  apply  this  reasoning  to  a  man,  is  to  take 
for  granted  that  the  man  is  a  machine,  which  is  the 
very  point  in  question. 

Leibnitz,  and  his  followers,  would  have  us  to  take 
this  principle  of  the  necessity  of  a  sufficient  reason  for 
every  existence^  for  every  event,  for  every  truth,  as  a 


01?   ARGUMENTS    FOR   NECESSITY.  277 

first  principle,  Avithout  proof,  without  explanation ; 
tiiough  it  be  evidently  a  vague  proposition,  capable  of 
various  meanings,  as  the  word  reason  is.  It  must  have 
differjent  meanings  when  applied  to  things  of  so  differ- 
ent a  nature  as  an  event  and  a  truth ;  and  it  may  have 
different  meanings  when  applied  to  the  same  thing.  We 
cannot  therefore  form  a  distinct  judgment  of  it  in  the 
gross,  but  only  by  taking  it  to  pieces,  and  applying  it  to 
different  things,  in  a  precise  and  distinct  meaning. 

It  can  have  no  connection  with  the  dispute  about 
liberty,  except  when  it  is  applied  to  the  determinations 
of  the  will.  Let  us  therefore  suppose  a  voluntary  ac- 
tion of  a  man  ;  and  that  the  question  is  put.  Whether 
was  there  a  sufficient  reason  for  this  action  or  not  ? 

The  natural  and  obvious  meaning  of  this  question  is, 
was  there  a  motive  to  the  action  sufficient  to  justify  it 
to  be  wise  and  good,  [Note  TT.]  or  at  least,  innocent  ? 
Surely,  in  this  sense,  there  is  not  a  sufficient  reason 
for  every  human  action,  because  there  are  many  that 
are  foolish,  unreasonable,  and  unjustifiable. 

If  the  meaning  of  the  question  be,  was  there  a  cause 
of  the  action  ?  Undoubtedly  there  was  :  of  every  event 
there  must  be  a  cause,  that  had  power  sufficient  to  pro- 
duce it,  and  that  exerted  that  power  for  the  purpose. 
In  the  present  case,  either  the  man  Avas  the  cause  of 
the  action,  and  then  it  was  a  free  action,  and  is  justly 
imputed  to  him ;  or  it  must  have  had  another  cause, 
and  cannot  justly  be  imputed  to  the  man.  In  this 
sense,  therefore,  it  is  granted  that  there  was  a  suffi- 
cient reason  for  the  action ;  but  the  question  about 
liberty  is  not  in  the  least  affected  by  this  concession. 

If,  again,  the  meaning  of  the  question  be,  was  there 
something  previous  to  the  action,  which  made  it  to  be 
necessarily  produced  ?  Every  man,  who  believes  that 
the  action  was  free,  will  answer  to  this  question  in  the 
negative. 

VOL.  IV.  36 


278  ESSAT    IV. 

I  know  no  other  meaning  that  can  be  put  upon  the 
principle  of  a  sufficient  reason,  when  applied  to  the  de- 
terminations of  the  human  will,  besides  the  three  I 
have  mentioned.  In  the  first,  it  is  evidently  false ; 
in  the  second,  it  is  true,  but  does  not  affect  the  ques- 
tion about  liberty  ;  in  the  third,  it  is  a  mere  assertion 
of  necessity  without  proof. 

Before  we  leave  this  boasted  principle,  we  may  see 
how  it  applies  to  events  of  another  kind.  When  we  say 
that  a  philosopher  has  assigned  a  sufficient  reason  for 
such  a  phenomenon,  what  is  the  meaning  of  this?  The 
meaning  surely  is,  that  he  has  accounted  for  it  from 
the  known  laws  of  nature.  The  sufficieut  reason  of  a 
phenomenon  of  nature  must  therefore  be  some  law  or 
laws  of  nature,  of  which  the  phenomenon  is  a  necessa- 
ry consequence.  But  are  we  sure  that,  in  this  sense, 
there  is  a  sufficient  reason  for  every  phenomenon  of  na- 
ture ?  I  think  we  are  not. 

For,  not  to  speak  of  miraculous  events,  in  which 
the  laws  of  nature  are  suspended,  or  counteracted,  we 
know  not  but  that,  in  the  ordinary  course  of  God's  prov- 
idence, there  may  be  particular  acts  of  his  administra- 
tion, that  do  not  come  under  any  general  law  of 
nature. 

Established  laws  of  nature  are  necessary  for  ena- 
bling intelligent  creatures  to  conduct  their  affairs  with 
wisdom  and  prudence,  and  prosecute  their  ends  by  proper 
means ;  but  still  it  may  be  fit,  that  some  particular 
events  should  not  be  fixed  by  general  laws,  but  be  direct- 
ed by  particular  acts  of  the  Divine  government,  that  so 
his  reasonable  creatures  may  have  sufficient  induce- 
ment to  supplicate  his  aid,  his  protection  and  direction, 
and  to  depend  upon  him  for  the  success  of  their  honest 
designs. 

"We  see  that,  in  human  governments,  even  those  that 
are  most  legal,  it  is  impossible  that  every  act  of  admin- 


OF   ARGUMENTS  FOR   NECESSITY.  279 

jslration  should  be  directed  by  established  laws.  Some 
things  must  be  left  to  the  direction  of  the  executive 
power,  and  particularly  acts  of  clemency  and  bounty  to 
petitioning  subjects.  That  there  is  nothing  analogous 
to  this  in  the  Divine  government  of  the  world,  no  man 
is  able  to  prove. 

We  have  no  authority  to  pray  that  God  would  coun- 
teract OP  suspend  the  laws  of  nature  in  our  behalf. 
Prayer,  therefore,  supposes  that  he  may  lend  an  ear  to 
our  prayers,  without  transgressing  the  laws  of  nature. 
Some  have  thought,  that  the  only  use  of  prayer  and 
devotion  is,  to  produce  a  proper  temper  and  disposition 
in  ourselves,  and  that  it  has  no  efficacy  with  the  Deity. 
But  this  is  a  hypothesis  without  proof.  It  contradicts 
our  most  natural  sentiments,  as  well  as  the  plaindoctrine 
of  Scripture,  and  tends  to  damp  the  fervour  of  every  act 
of  devotion. 

It  was  indeed  an  article  of  the  system  of  Leibnitz, 
that  the  Deity,  since  the  creation  of  the  world,  never  did 
any  thing,  excepting  in  the  case  of  miracles ;  his  work 
being  made  so  perfect  at  first,  as  never  to  need  his  in- 
terposition. But,  in  this,  he  was  opposed  by  sir  Isaac 
Newton,  and  others  of  the  ablest  philosophers,  nor  was 
he  ever  .able  to  give  any  proof  of  this  tenet. 

There  is  no  evidence,  therefore,  that  there  is  a  suffi 
cient  reason  for  every  natural  event ;  if,  by  a  sufficient 
reason,  we  understand  some  fixed  law  or  laws  of  na* 
ture,  of  which  that  event  is  a  necessary  consequence. 

But  what,  shall  we  say,  is  the  sufficient  reason  for  a 
truth  ?  For  our  belief  of  a  truth,  I  think,  the  sufficient 
reason  is  our  having  good  evidence ;  but  what  may  be 
meant  by  a  sufficient  reason  for  its  being  a  truth,  I  am 
not  able  to  guess,  unless  the  sufficient  reason  of  a  con- 
tingent truth  be«  that  it  is  true  ;  and,  of  a  necessary 
truth,  that  it  mv.^t  he  true.  This  makes  a  man  littlo 
wiser. 


^'^0  ESSAY   IV. 

From  ^vliat  has  been  said,  I  think  it  appears,  that 
this  principle  of  the  necessity  of  a  sufficient  reason  for 
every  thing,  is  very  indefinite  in  its  signification.  If  it 
mean,  that  of  every  event  there  must  be  a  cause  that 
had  sufficient  power  to  produce  it,  this  is  true,  and 
has  always  been  admitted  as  a  first  principle  in  phi- 
losophy, and  in  common  life.  If  it  mean  that  every  event 
inust  be  necessarily  consequent  upon  something,  called 
a  sufficient  reason,  that  went  before  it ;  this  is  a  direct 
assertion  of  universal  fatality,  and  has  many  strange, 
not  to  say  absurd  consequences :  but,  in  this  sense,  it  is 
neither  self-evident,  nor  has  any  proof  of  it  been  offer- 
ed, And,  in  general,  in  every  sense  in  which  it  has  evi- 
dence, it  gives  no  new  information ;  and,  in  every  sense  in 
in  which  it  would  give  new  information,  it  wants  evidence. 

Another  argument  that  has  been  used  to  prove  lib- 
erty of  action  to  be  impossible  is,  that  it  implies  "  an 
effect  without  a  cause." 

To  this  it  may  be  briefly  answered,  that  a  free  action 
is  an  effect  produced  by  a  being  who  had  power  and 
will  to  produce  it;  therefore  it  is  not  an  effect  without 
a  cause. 

To  suppose  any  other  cause  necessary  to  the  pro- 
duction of  an  effect,  than  a  being  who  had  the  power 
and  the  will  to  produce  it,  is  a  contradiction ;  for  it  is  to 
suppose  that  being  to  have  power  to  produce  the  effect, 
and  not  to  have  power  to  produce  it. 

But  as  great  stress  is  laid  upon  this  argument  by  a 
late  zealous  advocate  for  necessity,  we  shall  consider 
the  light  in  which  he  puts  it. 

He  introduces  this  argument  with  an  observation  to 
Avhich  I  entirely  agree :  it  is,  that  to  establish  this  doc- 
trine of  necessity,  nothing  is  necessary  but  that,  through- 
out all  nature,  the  same  consequences  should  invaria- 
bly result  from  the  same  circumstances. 

I  know  nothing  more  that  can  be  desired  to  establish 
universal  fatality  throughout  the  universe.    When  it 


OF   ARGUMENTS   TOK  NECESSITY.  281 

is  proved  that,  through  all  nature,  the  same  conse- 
quences invariably  result  from  the  same  circumstances, 
the  doctrine  of  liberty  must  be  given  up. 

To  prevent  all  ambiguity,  I  grant,  tliat,  in  reason- 
ing, the  same  consequences,  throughout  all  nature, 
will  invariably  follow  from  the  same  premises  :  because 
good  reasoning  must  be  good  reasoning  in  all  times  and 
places.  But  this  has  nothing  to  do  with  the  doctrine 
of  necessity.  The  thing  to  be  proved,  therefore,  in  or- 
der to  establish  that  doctrine,  is,  that,  through  all  na- 
ture, the  same  events  invariably  result  from  the  same 
circumstances. 

Of  this  capital  point ,  the  proof  offered  by  that  au- 
thor, is  that  an  event  not  preceded  by  any  circumstances 
that  determined  it  to  be  what  it  was,  would  be  an  effect 
without  a  cause.  Why  so  ?  <*  For,"  says  he,  "  a  cause 
cannot  be  defined  to  be  any  thing  but  such  pretious 
circumstances  as  are  constantly  followed  by  a  certain 
effect;  the  constancy  of  the  result  making  us  conclude, 
that  there  must  be  a  sufficient  reason,  in  the  nature  of 
things,  why  it  should  be  produced  in  those  circum- 
stances." 

I  acknowledge  that,  if  this  be  the  only  definition 
that  can  be  given  of  a  cause,  it  will  follow,  that  an 
event  not  preceded  by  circumstances  that  determined 
it  to  be  what  it  was,  would  be,  not  an  effect  without  a 
cause,  which  is  a  contradiction  in  terras,  but  an  event 
without  a  cause,  which  I  hold  to  be  impossible.  The 
matter  therefore  is  brought  to  this  issue,  whether 
this  be  the  only  definition  that  can  be  given  of  a  cause? 

With  regard  to  this  point,  we  may  ob serve, ^^rsf, 
that  this  definition  of  a  cause,  bating  the  phraseology 
of  putting  a  cause  under  the  category  of  circumstances, 
which  I  take  to  be  new,  is  the  same,  in  other  words, 
with  that  which  Mr.  Hume  gave,  of  which  he  ought 


282  ESSAY   IV. 

to  be  acknowledged  the  inventor.  For  I  know  of  no 
author  before  Mr.  Hume,  >vho  maintained,  that  \ve 
have  no  other  notion  of  a  cause,  but  that  it  is  some- 
thing prior  to  the  effect,  which  has  been  found  by  ex- 
perience to  be  constantly  followed  by  the  effect.  This 
is  a  main  pillar  of  his  system ;  and  he  has  drawn  very 
important  consequences  from  this  definition,  which  I 
am  far  from  thinking  this  author  will  adopt. 

Without  repeating  what  I  have  before  said  of  causes 
in  the  first  of  these  Essays,  and  in  the  second  and  third 
chapters  of  this,  I  shall  here  mention  some  of  the 
consequences  that  may  be  justly  deduced  from  this 
definition  of  a  cause,  that  we  may  judge  of  it  by  its 
fruits. 

1st,  It  follows  from  this  definition  of  a  cause,  that 
night  is  the  cause  of  day,  and  day  the  cause  of  night. 
For  no  two  things  have  more  constantly  followed  each 
other  since  the  beginning  of  the  world. 

2dly,  It  follows  from  this  definition  of  a  cause,  that, 
for  what  we  know,  any  thing  may  be  the  cause  of  any 
thing,  since  nothing  is  essential  to  a  cause  but  its  being 
constantly  followed  by  the  effect.  If  this  be  so,  what 
is  unintelligent  may  be  the  cause  of  what  is  intelligent ; 
folly  may  be  the  cause  of  wisdom,  and  evil  of  good ;  all 
reasoning  from  the  nature  of  the  effect  to  the  nature 
of  the  cause,  and  all  reasoning  from  final  causes,  must 
be  given  up  as  fallacious. 

Sdly,  From  this  definition  of  a  cause,  it  follows,  that 
we  have  no  reason  to  conclude,  that  every  event  must 
have  a  cause :  for  innumerable  events  happen,  when  it 
cannot  be  shown  that  there  were  certain  previous  cir- 
cumstances that  have  constantly  been  followed  by  such 
an  event.  And  though  it  were  certain,  that  every  event 
>ve  have  had  access  to  observe  had  a  cause,  it  would 
not  follow,  that  every  event  must  have  a  cause :  for  it 
is  contrai7  to  the  rules  of  logic  to  conclude^  that^  be- 


OF   ARGUMENTS     FOR    NECESSITY.  283 

cause  a  thing  has  always  been,  therefore  it  must  be  ; 
to  reason  from  what  is  contingent,  to  what  is  necessary. 
4<thly,  From  this  definition  of  a  cause,  it  would  fol- 
low, that  we  have  no  reason  to  conclude  that  there 
was  any  cause  of  the  creation  of  this  world:  for  there 
were  no  previous  circumstances  that  had  been  con- 
stantly followed  by  such  an  effect.  And,  for  the  same 
reason,  it  would  follow  from  the  definition,  that  what- 
ever was  singular  in  its  nature,  or  the  first  thing  of  its 
kind,  could  have  no  cause. 

Several  of  these  consequences  were  fondly  embraced 
by  Mr.  Hume,  as  necessarily  following  from  his  defini- 
tion of  a  cause,  and  as  favourable  to  his  system  of  ab- 
solute skepticism.  Those  who  adopt  the  definition  of 
a  cause,  from  which  they  follow,  may  choose  whether 
they  will  adopt  its  consequences,  or  show  that  they  do 
not  follow  from  the  definition. 

A  second  observation  with  regard  to  this  argument 
is,  that  a  definition  of  a  cause  may  be  given,  which  is 
not  burdened  with  such  untoward  consequences. 

Why  may  not  an  efficient  cause  be  defined  to  be  a 
being  that  had  power  and  will  to  produce  the  effect  ? 
The  production  of  an  effect  requires  active  power,  and 
active  power,  being  a  quality,  must  be  in  a  being  en- 
dowed with  that  power.  Power  without  will  produces 
no  effect ;  but,  where  these  are  conjoined,  the  effect  must 
be  produced. 

This,  I  think,  is  the  proper  meaning  of  the  word 
causct  when  it  is  used  in  metaphysics ;  and  particularly 
when  we  affirm,  that  every  thing  that  begins  to  exist 
must  have  a  cause ;  and  when,  by  reasoning,  we  prove, 
that  there  must  be  an  eternal  First  Cause  of  all  things. 
Was  the  world  produced  by  previous  circumstances 
which  are  constantly  followed  by  such  an  effect  ?  or, 
was  it  produced  by  a  Being  that  had  power  to  produce 
it,  and  willed  its  production  ? 


28i  ESSAY    IV. 

In  natural  philosophy,  the  word  cause  is  often  used 
in  a  vepj  different  sense.  When  an  event  is  produced 
according  to  a  known  law  of  nature,  the  law  of  nature 
is  called  the  cause  of  that  event.  But  a  law  of  nature 
is  not  the  efficient  cause  of  any  event.  It  is  only  the 
rule,  according  to  which  the  efficient  cause  acts.  A 
law  is  a  thing  conceived  in  the  mind  of  a  rational  heiog, 
not  a  thing  that  has  a  real  existence;  and,  therefore, 
like  a  motive,  it  can  neither  act  nor  be  acted  upon,  and 
consequently  cannot  be  an  efficient  cause.  If  there 
be  no  being  that  acts  according  to  the  law,  it  produces 
no  effect. 

This  author  takes  it  for  granted,  tliat  every  volun- 
tary action  of  man  was  determined  to  be  what  it  was 
by  the  laws  of  nature,  in  the  same  sense  as  mechanical 
motions  are  determined  by  the  laws  of  motion;  and 
that  every  choice,  not  thus  determined,  "  is  just  as 
impossible,  as  that  a  mechanical  motion  should  depend 
upon  no  certain  law  or  rule,  or  that  any  other  effect 
should  exist  without  a  cause." 

It  ought  here  to  be  observed,  that  there  are  two 
kinds  of  laws,  both  very  properly  called  laics  of  nature, 
which  ought  not  to  be  confounded.  There  are  moral 
laws  of  nature,  and  physical  laws  of  nature.  The  first 
are  the  rules  which  God  has  prescribed  to  bis  rational 
creatures  for  their  conduct.  They  respect  voluntary 
and  free  actions  only ;  for  no  other  actions  can  be  sub- 
ject to  moral  rules.  These  laws  of  nature  ought  to  be 
always  obeyed,  but  they  are  often  transgressed  by  men. 
There  is  therefore  no  impossibility  in  the  violation  of 
the  moral  laws  of  nature,  nor  is  such  a  violation  an 
effect  without  a  cause.  Tlie  transgressor  is  the  cause, 
and  is  justly  accountable  for  it. 

The  physical  laws  of  nature  are  the  rules  according 
to  which  the  Deity  commonly  acts  in  his  natural  gov- 
ernment of  the  world  ;  and,  whatever  is  done  accord- 


OF  ARGUMENTS    FOR   NECESSITY.  285 

iBg  to  them,  is  not  done  by  man,  but  by  God,  either 
immediately,  or  by  instruments  under  his  direction. 
These  laws  of  nature  neither  restrain  tlie  power  of  the 
Author  of  nature,  nor  bring  hira  under  any  obligation 
to  do  nothing  beyond  their  sphere.  He  has  sometimes 
acted  contrary  to  them,  in  the  case  of  miracles,  and, 
perhaps,  often  acts  Avithout  regard  to  them,  in  the  or- 
dinary course  of  his  providence.  Neither  miraculous 
events,  which  are  contrary  to  the  physical  laws  of  na- 
ture, nor  such  ordinary  acts  of  the  Divine  administration 
as  are  without  their  sphere,  are  impossible,  nor  are 
they  effects  without  a  cause.  God  is  the  cause  of  them, 
and  to  him  only  they  are  to  be  imputed. 

That  the  moral  laws  of  nature  are  often  transgressed 
by  man,  is  undeniable.  If  the  physical  laws  of  nature 
make  his  obedience  to  the  moral  laws  to  be  impossible^ 
then  he  is,  in  the  literal  sense,  born  under  one  law, 
hound  unto  another,  which  contradicts  every  notion  of 
a  righteous  government  of  the  world. 

But  though  this  supposition  were  attended  with  no 
such  shocking  consequence,  it  is  merely  a  supposition  j 
and  until  it  be  proved  that  every  choice,  or  voluntary 
action  of  man,  is  determined  by  the  physical  laws  of 
nature,  this  argument  for  necessity  is  only  the  taking 
for  granted  the  point  to  be  proved. 

Of  the  same  kind  is  the  argument  for  the  impossibili- 
ty of  liberty,  taken  from  a  balance,  which  cannot  move 
but  as  it  is  moved  by  the  weights  put  into  it.  This 
argument,  though  urged  by  almost  every  writer  in  de- 
fence of  necessity,  is  so  pitiful,  and  has  been  so  often 
answered,  that  it  scarce  deserves  to  be  mentioned. 

Every  argument  in  a  dispute,  which  is  not  grounded 
on  principles  granted  by  both  parties,  is  that  kind  of 
sophism  which  logicians  callpetitio  jirincipii ;  and  such. 
in  my  apprehension,  are  all  the  arguments  offered  in 
prove  that  liberty  of  action  is  impossible. 

VOL*  IV.  37 


5586  ESSAY   IV. 

It  may  further  be  observed,  that  every  argument  of 
this  class,  if  it  were  really  couclusive,  must  extend  to 
the  Deity,  as  well  as  to  all  created  beings ;  and  neces- 
sary existence,  which  has  always  been  considered  as 
the  prerogative  of  the  Supreme  Being,  must  belong 
equally  to  every  creature  and  to  every  event,  even  the 
most  trifling. 

This  I  take  to  be  the  system  of  Spinosa,  and  of  those 
among  the  ancients,  who  carried  fatality  to  the  highest 
pitch. 

I  before  referred  the  reader  to  Dr.  Clarke's  argu- 
ment, which  professes  to  demonstrate,  that  the  First 
Cause  is  a  free  agent.  Until  that  argument  shall  be 
shown  to  be  fallacious,  a  thing  which  I  have  not  seen 
attempted,  such  weak  arguments  as  have  been  brought 
to  prove  the  contrary,  ought  to  have  little  weight. 


OF  ARGUMENTS  FOR   NECESSITY.  ft87 


CHAP.  X. 

THE    SAME    SUBJECT. 

With  regard  to  the  second  class  of  arguments  fo.r 
necessity,  which  are  intended  to  prove,  that  liberty  of 
action  would  be  hurtful  to  man,  I  have  only  to  observe, 
that  it  is  a  fact  too  evident  to  be  denied,  whether  we 
adopt  the  system  of  liberty  or  that  of  necessity,  that 
men  actually  receive  hurt  from  their  own  voluntary 
actions,  and  from  the  voluntary  actions  of  other  men ; 
nor  can  it  be  pretended,  that  this  fact  is  inconsist- 
ent with  the  doctrine  of  liberty,  or  that  it  is  more 
unaccountable  upon  this  system  than  upon  that  of  ne- 
cessity. 

In  order,  therefore,  to  draw  any  solid  argument 
against  liberty,  from  its  hurtfulness,  it  ought  to  be 
proved,  that,  if  man  were  a  free  agent,  he  would  do 
more  hurt  to  himself,  or  to  others,  than  he  actually 
does. 

To  this  purpose  it  has  been  said,  that  liberty  would 
make  men*s  actions  capricious ;  that  it  would  destroy 
the  influence  of  motives ;  that  it  would  take  away  the 
efiect  of  rewards  and  punishments  ;  and  that  it  would 
make  man  absolutely  ungovernable. 

These  arguments  have  been  already  considered  in 
the  fourth  and  fifth  chapters  of  this  Essay ;  and,  there- 
fore, I  shall  now  proceed  to  the  third  class  of  argu- 
ments for  necessity,  which  are  intended  to  prove^  that> 
in  fact,  men  arc  not  free  agents. 

The  most  formidable  argument  of  this  class,  and,  I 
think,  the  only  one  that  has  not  been  considered  in 
some  of  the  preceding  chapters,  is  taken  from  the  pres- 
cience  of  the  Deity. 


288  ESSAY    IV. 

God  foresees  every  determination  of  llie  human  mind. 
It  must  therefore  be  what  he  foresees  it  shall  be ;  and 
therefore  must  be  necessary. 

This  argument  may  be  understood  three  different 
v^ays,  each  of  whicli  we  shall  consider,  that  we  may  sec 
all  its  force. 

The  necessity  of  the  event  may  be  thought  to  be  a 
just  consequence,  either  barely  from  its  being  certainly 
future,  or  barely  from  its  being  foreseen,  or  from  the  im- 
possibility of  its  being  foreseen,  if  it  was  not  necessaryt 

1st,  It  may  be  thought,  that,  as  nothing  can  be  known 
to  be  future  which  is  not  certainly  future;  so  if  it  be 
certainly  future,  it  must  be  necessary. 

This  opinion  has  no  less  authority  in  its  favour  than 
that  of  Aristotle,  who  indeed  held  the  doctrine  of  lib- 
erty, but  believing,  at  the  same  time,  that  whatever  is 
certainly  future  must  be  necessary  ;  in  order  to  defend 
the  liberty  of  human  actions,  maintained,  that  contin- 
gent events  have  no  certain  futurity ;  but  I  know  of  no 
modern  advocate  for  liberty,  who  has  put  the  defence 
of  it  upon  that  issue. 

It  must  be  granted,  that  as  whatever  was,  certainly 
was,  and  whatever  is,  certainly  is,  so  whatever  shall  be, 
certainly  shall  be.  These  are  identical  propositions,  and 
cannot  be  doubted  by  those  who  conceive  them  dis- 
tinctly. 

But  I  know  no  rule  of  reasoning  by  which  it  can  be 
inferred,  that,  because  an  event  certainly  shall  be, 
therefore  its  production  must  be  necessary.  The  man- 
ner of  its  production,  whether  free  or  necessary,  can- 
not be  concluded  from  the  time  of  its  production,  wheth- 
er it  be  past,  present,  or  future.  That  it  shall  be,  no 
more  implies  that  it  shall  be  necessarily,  than  that  it 
shall  be  freely  produced ;  for  neither  present,  past,  nor 
future,  have  any  more  connection  with  necessity,  than 
they  have  with  freedom. 


OP  ARGUMENTS   FOR   NECESSITY.  289 

I  grant,  therefore*  that,  from  events  being  foreseen^ 
it  may  be  justly  concluded,  that  they  are  certainly  fu- 
ture ;  but  from  their  being  certainly  future,  it  does  not 
follow  that  they  are  necessary. 

2dly,  If  it  be  meant  by  this  argument,  that  an  event 
must  be  necessary,  merely  because  it  is  foreseen,  nei- 
ther is  this  a  just  consequence:  for  it  has  often  been 
observed,  that  prescience  and  knowledge  of  every  kind, 
being  an  immanent  act,  has  no  effect  upon  the  thing 
known.  Its  mode  of  existence,  whether  it  be  free  or 
necessary,  is  not  in  the  least  affected  by  its  being 
known,  to  be  future,  any  more  than  by  its  being 
known  to  be  past  or  present.  The  Deity  foresees  his 
own  future  free  actions,  but  neither  his  foresight  nor 
liis  purpose  makes  them  necessary.  The  argument* 
therefore,  taken  in  this  view,  as  well  as  in  the  for- 
mer, is  inconclusive. 

A  third  way  in  which  this  argument  may  be  under- 
stood, is  this :  it  is  impossible  that  an  event  which  is 
not  necessary  should  be  foreseen ;  therefore  every  event 
that  is  certainly  foreseen,  must  be  necessary.  Here  the 
conclusion  certainly  follows  from  the  antecedent  prop- 
osition, and  therefore  the  whole  stress  of  the  argument 
lies  upon  the  proof  of  that  proposition. 

Let  us  consider,  therefore,  whelher  it  can  be  proved, 
that  no  free  action  can  be  certainly  foreseen.  If  this 
can  be  proved,  it  will  follow,  either  that  all  actions  are 
necessary,  or  that  all  actions  cannot  be  foreseen. 

With  regard  to  the  general  proposition,  that  it  is 
impossible  that  any  free  action  can  be  certainly  foreseen, 
I  observe, 

1st,  That  every  man  who  believes  the  Deity  to  be  a 
free  agent,  must  believe  that  this  proposition  not  only  is 
incapable  of  proof,  but  that  it  is  certainly  false  :  for  the 
man  himself  foresees,  that  the  Judge  of  all  the  earth 
will  always  do  what  is  right,  and  that  he  will  fulfil  what- 


290  ESSAY   IV. 

ever  he  has  promised ;  and  at  the  same  time,  believes, 
that,  in  doing  Avhat  is  right,  and  in  fuIOlling  his  prom- 
ises, the  Deity  aets  with  the  most  perfect  freedom. 

2dly,  1  observe,  that  every  man  who  believes  that  it  is 
an  absurdity  or  contradiction,  that  any  free  action  should 
be  certainly  foreseen,  must  believe,  if  he  will  be  consis- 
tent, either  that  the  Deity  is  not  a  free  agent,  or  that 
he  does  not  foresee  his  own  actions ;  nor  can  we  foresee 
that  he  will  do  what  is  right,  and  will  fuIAl  his  promises. 

Sdly,  "Without  considering  the  consequences  which 
this  general  proposition  carries  in  its  bosom,  which  give 
it  a  very  bad  aspect,  let  us  attend  to  the  arguments  of- 
fered to  prove  it. 

Dr.  Priestley  has  laboured  more  in  the  proof  of  this 
proposition  than  any  other  author  I  am  acquainted  with, 
and  maintains  it  to  be,  not  only  a  difficulty  and  a  mys- 
tery, as  it  has  been  called,  that  a  contingent  event 
should  be  the  object  of  knowledge,  but  that,  in  reality, 
there  cannot  be  a  greater  absurdity  or  contradiction. 
Let  us  hear  the  proof  of  this. 

"  For,"  says  he,  **  as  certainly  as  nothing  can  be  known 
to  exist,  but  what  does  exist ;  so  certainly  can  nothing 
be  known  to  arise  from  what  does  eocistf  but  what  does 
arise  from  it,  or  depend  upon  it.  But,  according  to 
the  definition  of  the  terms,  a  contingent  event  does  not 
depend  upon  any  previous  known  circumstances,  since 
some  other  event  might  have  arisen  in  the  same  circum- 
stances." 

This  argument,  when  stripped  of  incidental  and  ex- 
planatory clauses,  and  affected  variations  of  expression, 
amounts  to  this :  nothing  can  be  known  to  arise  from 
what  does  exist,  but  what  does  arise  from  it:  but  a 
contingent  event  does  not  arise  from  what  does  exist. 
The  conclusion,  which  is  left  to  be  drawn  by  the  read- 
er, must,  according  to  the  rules  of  reasoning,  be — there- 


OF  ARGUMENTS   Ton  NECESSITY.  291 

ftpe  a  contingent  event  cannot  be  known  to  arise  from 
what  docs  exist. 

It  is  here  verj-  obvious,  that  a  thing  may  arise  from 
what  does  exist,  two  ways,  freely  or  necessarilv.  A 
contingent  event  arises  from  its  cause,  not  necessariry, 

frl  ,h  ^'  '  '"' """  '"""^''  ''•""■  "•'S''*  have  arisen 
«>om  the  same  cause,  in  tlie  same  circumstances. 

con.rT"''  P^P"'"""  "*•  Ite  argument  is,  that  a 
eontingent  event  does  not  depend  upon  any  previous 
Uown  circumstances,  which  I  take  to  be  only  a  varia- 
ThLr  *«™<""'""«">'»S/™m  what  i„e,  ecdst. 
therefore,  m  order  to  make  the  two  propositions  to 

ZrS  '  "'  ""*  '""'''""""'  "y  "^-'-Sfrom  «,hat 
Whentw'     T-'"^-  »!'"''»«"'>  from  what  does  exist. 

thus  nothmg  can  be  known  to  arise  necessarily  from 
what  does  exist,  but  what  does  necessarily  arise  flZ 

f  1  K'.r"""^"'"  "''•"  """'  "'"  ="•'»  neoessarily 
from  what  does  exist ;  therefore  a  contingent  event  can' 
not  be  known  to  arise  necessarily  from  what  does  exist 
I  grant  the  whole ;  bat  the  conclusion  of  this  areu- 
mcnt  ,s  not  what  he  undertook  to  prove,  and,  therefore 
the  argument  .s  that  kind  of  sophism  which  logicians 
call  tgnaraniia  eknchi. 

The  thing  to  be  proved  is  not,  that  a  contingent 
event  cannot  be  known  to  arise  necessarily  from  wha 
exists-  but  that  a  contingent  future  event  canno    be 
the  object  of  knowledge. 

To  draw  the  argnmcnt  to  this  conclusion,  it  must  be 
P"t  thus  :  nothing  can  be  known  to  arise  from  wha 
does  exist,  but  what  arises  necessarily  from  it  •  but  a 

Ts  "e^st  Te'r  T  "°'  """'  '""^'^''"'^  *•-"  »"« 
aocs   exist;  therefore  a  contingent  event  cannot  be 

known  to  arise  from  what  does  exist. 
The  conclusion  here  is  what  it  ought  to  be :  but  the 

firspr„posUionassumesthe,hinstol^proved,and"here 
fore  the  argument  is  what  logicians  call  k«Kof™<*«. 


29  2  ESSAY     IV. 

To  tlie  same  purpose  he  says,  « that  nothing  can  be 
known  at  present,  except  itself  op  its  necessary  cause 
exist  at  present." 

This  is  affirmed,  but  I  find  no  proof  of  it. 

Again  he   says,  "  that  knowledge  supposes  an  ob-   / 
ject,  which,  in  this  case,  does  not  exist."     It  is  true, 
that  knowledge  supposes  an  object,  and  every  thing 
that  is  known  is  an  object  of  knowledge,  whether  past, 
present,  or  future,  whether  contingent  or  necessary. 

Upon  the  whole,  the  arguments  I  can  find  upon  this 
point,  bear  no  proportion  to  the  confidence  of  the  asser- 
tion, that  there  cannot  be  a  greater  absurdity  or  con- 
tradiction, than  that  a  contingent  event  should  be  the 
object  of  knowledge. 

To  those  who,  without  pretending  to  show  a  mani- 
fest absurdity  or  contradiction  in  the  knowledge  of  fu- 
ture contingent  events,  are  still  of  opinion,  that  it  is 
impossible  that  the  future  free  actions  of  man,  a  being 
of  imperfect  wisdom  and  virtue,  should  be  certainly 
foreknown,  I  would  humbly  offer  the  following  con- 
siderations, 
1st,  I  grant  that  there  is  no  knowledge  of  this  kmd 

in  man ;  and  this  is  the  cause  that  we  find  it  so  difficult 
to  conceive  it  in  any  other  being. 

All  our  knowledge  of  future  events  is  drawn  either 
from  their  necessary  connection  with  the  present  course 
of  nature,  or  from  their  connection  with  the  character 
of  the  agent  that  produces  them.  Our  knowledge, 
even  of  those  future  events  that  necessarily  result  from 
the  established  laws  of  nature,  is  hypothetical.  It 
supposes  the  continuance  of  those  laws  with  which  they 
are  connected.  And  how  long  those  laws  may  be  con- 
tinued, we  have  no  certain  knowledge.  God  only  knows 
when  the  present  course  of  nature  shall  be  changed, 
and  therefore  he  only  has  certaio  knowledge  even  of 
events  of  this  kimd. 


or    ARGUMENTS    FOR   NECESSITY.  293 

The  character  of  perfect  wisdom  and  perfect  recti- 
tude in  the  Deity,  gives  us  certain  knowledge  that  he 
will  always  be  true  in  all  his  declarations,  faithful  in 
all  his  promises,  and  just  in  all  his  dispensations.  But 
when  we  reason  from  the  character  of  men  to  their  fu- 
ture actions,  though,  in  many  cases,  we  have  such  prob- 
ability as  we  rest  upon  in  our  most  important  world- 
ly concerns,  yet  we  have  no  certainty,  because  men  are 
imperfect  in  wisdom  and  in  virtue.  If  we  had  even  the 
most  perfect  knowledge  of  the  character  and  situation 
of  a  man,  this  would  not  be  sufficient  to  give  certainty 
to  our  knowledge  of  his  future  actions  ;  because,  in 
some  actions,  both  good  and  bad  men  deviate  from 
their  general  character. 

The  prescience  of  the  Deity,  therefore,  must  be  dif- 
ferent not  only  in  degree,  but  iu  kind,  from  any  knowl- 
edge we  can  attain  of  futurity. 

2dly,  Though  we  can  have  no  conception  how  the  fu- 
ture free  actions  of  men  may  be  known  by  the  Deity, 
this  is  not  a  sufficient  reason  to  conclude  that  ihey  can- 
not be  known.  Do  we  know,  or  can  we  conceive,  how 
God  knows  the  secrets  of  men's  hearts  ?  Can  we  con- 
ceive how  God  made  this  world,  without  any  pre-existent 
matter?, All  the  ancient  philosophers  believed  this  to 
be  impossible :  and  for  what  reason  but  this,  that 
they  could  not  conceive  how  it  could  be  done.  Can  we 
give  any  better  reason  for  believing  that  the  actions  of 
men  cannot  be  certainly  foreseen  ? 

3dly,  Can  we  conceive  how  we  ourselves  have  certain 
knowledge  by  those  faculties  with  which  God  has  en- 
dowed us?  If  any  man  thinks  that  he  understands  dis- 
tinctly how  he  is  conscious  of  his  own  thoughts  ;  how 
he  perceives  external  objects  by  his  senses ;  how  he 
remembers  past  events,  I  am  afraid  that  he  is  not  ycf, 
so  wise  as  to  understand  his  own  ignopanc. 

YOl.  IV.  r>8 


29*  ESSAY    IV. 

4thly,  There  seems  to  me  to  be  a  great  analogy  between 
the  prescience  of  future  contingents,  and  the  memory 
of  past  contingents.  We  possess  the  last  in  some  de- 
gree, and  therefore  And  no  difficulty  in  believing  that 
it  may  be  perfect  in  the  Deity.  But  the  first  we  have 
in  no  degree,  and  therefore  are  apt  to  think  it  impossible. 

In  both,  the  object  of  knowledge  is  neither  what 
presently  exists,  nor  has  any  necessary  connection  with 
what  presently  exists.  Every  argument  brought  to 
prove  the  impossibility  of  prescience,  proves,  with 
equal  force,  the  impossibility  of  memory.  If  it  be  true 
that  nothing  can  be  known  to  arise  from  what  does 
exist,  but  what  necessarily  arises  from  it,  it  must  be 
equally  true,  that  nothing  can  be  known  to  have  gone 
before  what  does  exist,  but  what  must  necessarily  have 
gone  before  it.  If  it  be  true  that  nothing  future  can 
be  known  unless  its  necessary  cause  exist  at  present, 
it  must  be  equally  true  that  nothing  past  can  be  known 
unless  something  consequent,  with  which  it  is  neces- 
sarily connected,  exist  at  present.  If  the  Fatalist 
should  say,  that  past  events  are  indeed  necessarily  con- 
nected with  the  present,  he  will  not  surely  venture  to 
say,  that  it  is  by  tracing  this  necessary  connection,  that 
we  remember  the  past. 

Why  then  should  we  think  prescience  impossible  in 
the  Almighty,  when  he  has  given  us  a  faculty  which 
bears  a  strong  analogy  to  it,  and  which  is  no  less  unac- 
countable to  the  human  understanding,  than  prescience 
is.  It  is  more  reasonable  as  well  as  more  agreea- 
ble to  the  sacred  writings,  to  conclude  with  a  pious 
father  of  the  church,  <*  Quocirca  nullo  modo  cogimur, 
aut  retenta  prsescientiaDei  toUere  voluntatis  arbitrium, 
aut  retento  voluntatis  arbitrio,  Deum,  quod  nefasest,  ne- 
gare  prsescium  futurorum ;  Sed  utrumque  amplectimur, 
utrumque  fideliter  et  veraciter  confitemur :  Illud  ut 
bene  credamus ;  hoc  ut  bene  vivamus."    Aug, 


OF   fllE    PERMISSION   OF   EVIL,  295 

CHAP.  XL 

OF   THE   PERMISSION   OF   EVIL. 

Another  use  has  been  made  of  Divine  prescience  by 
the  advocates  for  necessity,  which  it  is  proper  to  con- 
sider before  we  leave  this  subject. 

It  has  been  said,  **  that  all  those  consequences  fol- 
low from  the  Divine  prescience  which  are  thought 
most  alarming  in  the  scheme  of  necessity ;  and  par- 
ticularly God's  being  the  proper  cause  of  moral  evil. 
For,  to  suppose  God  to  foresee  and  permit  what  it  was 
in  his  power  to  have  prevented,  is  the  very  same  thing, 
as  to  suppose  him  to  will,  and  directly  to  cause  it.  He 
distinctly  foresees  all  the  actions  of  a  man's  life,  and 
all  the  consequences  of  them  :  if,  therefore,  he  did  not 
think  any  particular  man  and  bis  conduct  proper  for 
his  plan  of  creation  and  providence,  he  certainly  would 
not  have  introduced  him  into  being  at  all?' 

In  this  reasoning  we  may  observe,  that  a  supposition 
is  made  which  seems  to  contradict  itself. 

That  all  the  actions  of  a  particular  man  should  be  dis- 
tinctly foreseen,  and,  at  the  same  time,  that  that  man 
should  never  be  brought  into  existence,  seems  (o  me  to  be 
a  contradiction :  and  the  same  contradiction  there  is,  in 
supposing  any  action  to  be  distinctly  foreseen,  and  yet 
prevented.  For,  if  it  be  foreseen,  it  shall  happen  ;  and, 
if  it  be  prevented,  it  shall  not  happen,  and  therefore 
could  not  be  foreseen. 

The  knowledge  here  supposed  is  neither  prescience 
nor  science,  but  something  very  different  from  both. 
It  is  a  kind  of  knowledge,  which  some  metaphysical 
divines,  in  their  controversies  about  the  order  of  the 
Divine  decrees,  a  subject  far  beyond  the  limits  of  hu- 
man understanding,  attributed  to  the  Deity,  and  of 


296  KSSAY     IV. 

which  other  diviDes  denied  the  possibility,  while  they 
firmly  maintained  the  Divine  prescience. 

It  was  called  scicntia  mediae  to  distinguish  it  from 
prescience  ,•  and  by  this  scienlia  mediae  was  meant,  not 
the  kniwitig  from  eterniJy  all  things  that  shall  exist, 
which  is  prescience,  nor  the  knowing  all  the  connec- 
tions and  relations  of  things  that  exist  or  may  be  con- 
ceived, vhich  is  science,  but  a  knowledge  of  things 
contingent,  that  never  did  nor  shall  exist.  For  in- 
stance, the  knowing  every  action  that  would  be  done 
by  a  man  who  is  barely  conceived,  and  shall  never  be 
brought  into  existence. 

Against  the  possibility  of  the  scientia  media  argu- 
ments may  he  urged,  which  cannot  be  applied  to  pre- 
science. Thus  it  may  be  said,  that  nothing  can  be 
known  but  what  is  true.  It  is  true  that  the  fuiure  ac- 
tions of  a  free  ageni  shall  exist,  and  therefore  we  see 
no  impossibility  in  its  being  known  ( hat  they  shall  exist : 
but  wiih  regard  to  the  free  ueiions  of  an  agent  that 
never  did  nor  shall  exist,  there  is  nothing  true,  and 
therefore  nothing  can  be  known.  To  say  that  the  be- 
ing coneeied,  would  certainly  act  in  such  a  way,  if 
placed  in  such  a  situation,  if  it  have  any  meaning,  is  to 
say,  that  his  acting  in  that  way  is  the  consequence  of 
the  conception  ;  but  this  contradicts  the  supposition  of 
its  being  a  free  action. 

Things  merely  conceived  have  no  relations  or  con- 
nections but  such  as  are  implied  in  the  conception,  or 
are  consequent  from  it.  Thus  I  conceive  two  circles 
in  the  same  plane.  If  this  be  all  I  conceive,  it  is  not 
true  that  these  circles  are  equal  or  unequal,  because 
neither  of  these  relations  is  implied  in  the  conception  ; 
yet  if  the  two  circles  really  existed,  they  must  be 
cither  equal  or  unequaL  Again,  I  conceive  two  circles 
in  the  same  plane,  the  distance  of  whose  centres  is  equal 
to  the  sum  of  their  semidiameter?.    It  is  true  of  these 


OF  THE   PERMISSION   OF  EVlI..  297 

circles*  that  they  will  touch  one  another,  because  this 
follows  from  the  conception ;  hut  it  is  not  true  that 
they  will  be  equal  or  unequal,  because  neither  of  these 
relations  is  implied  in  the  conceptiouj,  nor  is  consequent 
from  it. 

In  like  manner,  I  can  conceive  a  being  who  has 
power  to  do  an  indiiTerent  action,  or  not  to  do  it.  It  is 
not  true  that  he  would  do  it,  nor  is  it  true  that  he 
would  not  do  it,  because  neither  is  implied  in  my  con- 
ception, nor  follows  from  it ;  and  what  is  not  true  can- 
not be  known. 

Though  I  do  not  perceive  any  fallacy  in  this  argu- 
ment against  a  scienlia  media^  I  am  sensible  how  apt  we 
are  to  err  in  applying  what  belongs  to  our  conceptions 
and  our  knowledge,  to  the  conceptions  and  knowledge 
of  the  Supreme  Being ;  and,  therefore,  without  pretend- 
ing to  determine  for  or  against  a  scientia  media,  I  only 
observe,  that,  to  suppose  that  the  Deity  prevents 
what  he  foresees  by  his  prescience,  is  a  contradiction ; 
and  that  to  know  that  a  contingent  event  which  he 
sees  fit  not  to  permit  would  certainly  happen  if  per- 
mitted, is  not  prescience,  but  (he  scientia  media,  whose 
existence  or  possibility  we  are  under  no  necessity  of  ad- 
mitting. 

Waving  all  dispute  about  scieiitia  media,  we  acknowl- 
edge, that  nothing  can  happen  under  the  administration 
of  the  Deity,  which  he  does  not  see  fit  to  permit.  The 
permission  of  natural  and  moral  evil,  is  a  phenomenon 
which  cannot  be  disputed.  To  account  for  this  phe- 
nomenon under  the  goverment  of  a  Being  of  infinite 
goodness,  justice,  wisdom,  and  power,  has,  in  all  ages^ 
been  considered  as  difficult  to  human  reason,  whether 
we  embrace  the  system  of  liberty  or  that  of  necessity. 
But,  if  the  difficulty  of  accounting  for  this  phenomenon 
upon  the  system  of  necessity,  be  as  great  as  it  is  upon 
the  system  of  liberty,  it  can  have  no  weight  when  used 
as  an  argument  against  liberty. 


298  £SSAT    IV. 

The  defenders  of  necessity,  to  reconcile  it  to  the 
principles  of  theism,  find  themselves  obliged  to  give  up 
all  the  moral  attributes  of  God,  excepting  that  of  good- 
ness, or  a  desire  to  produce  happiness.  This  they 
hold  to  be  the  sole  motive  of  his  making  and  govern- 
ing the  universe.  Justice,  veracity,  faithfulness,  are 
only  modifications  of  goodness,  the  means  of  promoting 
its  purposes,  and  are  exercised  only  so  far  as  they  serve 
that  end.  Virtue  is  acceptable  to  him,  and  vice  dis- 
pleasing, only  as  the  first  tends  to  produce  happiness 
and  the  last  misery.  He  is  the  proper  cause  and  agent 
of  all  moral  evil  as  well  as  good ;  but  it  is  for  a  good 
end,  to  produce  the  greater  happiness  to  his  creatures. 
He  does  evil  that  good  may  come ;  and  this  end  sanctifies 
the  worst  actions  tliat  contribute  to  it.  All  the  wick- 
edness of  men  being  the  work  of  God,  he  must,  when 
lie  surveys  it,  pronounce  it,  as  well  as  all  his  other 
works,  to  be  very  good. 

This  view  of  the  Divine  nature,  the  only  one  con- 
sistent with  the  scheme  of  necessity,  appears  to  me 
much  more  shocking  than  the  permission  of  evil  upon 
the  scheme  of  liberty.  It  is  said,  that  it  requires  only 
strength  of  mind  to  embrace  it:  to  me  it  seems  to  re- 
quire much  strength  of  countenance  to  profess  it. 

In  this  system,  as  in  Cleanthes'  Tablature  of  the 
Epicurean  system,  pleasure  or  happiness  is  placed  upon 
the  throne  as  the  queen,  to  whom  all  the  virtues  bear 
the  humble  office  of  menial  servants. 

As  the  end  of  the  Deity,  in  all  his  actions,  is  not  his 
own  good,  which  can  receive  no  addition,  but  the  good 
of  his  creatures ;  and,  as  his  creatures  are  capable  of  this 
disposition  in  some  degree,  is  he  not  pleased  with  this 
imageof  himself  in  his  creatures,  and  displeased  with 
the  contrary  ?  Why  then  should  he  be  the  author  of 
malice,  envy,  revenge,  tyranny,  and  oppression  in  their 
hearts  ?  Other  vices  that  have  no  malevoleuce  in  them 


0¥  THE   PEKMISSION   OF  EVIL.  299 

may  please  such  a  Deity,  but  surely  malevolence  can- 
not please  him. 

If  we  form  our  notions  of  the  moral  attributes  of 
the  Deity  from  what  we  see  of  his  government  of  the 
world,  from  the  dictates  of  reason  and  conscience,  or 
from  the  doctrine  of  revelation  ;  justice,  veracity,  faith- 
fulness, the  love  of  virtue  and  dislike  of  vice,  ap- 
pear to  be  no  less  essential  attributes  of  his  nature  than 
goodness. 

In  man,  who  is  made  after  the  image  of  God,  good- 
ness, or  benevolence,  is  indeed  an  essential  part  of  virtue, 
but  it  is  not  the  whole. 

I  am  at  a  loss  what  arguments  can  be  brought  to 
prove  goodness  to  be  essential  to  the  Deity,  which  will 
not,  with  equal  force,  prove  other  moral  attributes  to 
be  so ;  or  what  objections  can  be  brought  against  the  lat- 
ter, which  have  not  equal  strength  against  the  former, 
unless  it  be  admitted  to  be  an  objection  against  other 
moral  attributes,  that  they  do  not  accord  with  the  doc- 
trine of  necessity. 

If  other  moral  evils  may  be  attributed  to  the  Deity 
as  the  means  of  promoting  general  good,  why  may  not 
false  declarations  and  false  promises  ?  And  then  what 
ground  have  we  left  to  believe  the  truth  of  what  he 
reveals,  or  to  rely  upon  what  he  promises  ? 

Supposing  this  strange  view  of  the  Divine  nature 
were  to  be  adopted  in  favour  of  the  doctrine  of  necessi- 
ty, there  is  still  a  great  diflSculty  to  be  resolved. 

Since  it  is  supposed,  that  the  Supreme  Being  had  no 
other  end  in  making  and  governing  the  universe,  but 
to  produce  the  greatest  degree  of  happiness  to  his  crea- 
tures in  general,  how  comes  it  to  pass,  that  there  is  so 
much  misery  in  a  system  made  and  governed  by  infi- 
nite wisdom  and  power  for  a  contrary  purpose  ? 

The  solution  of  this  difficulty  leads  us  necessarily  to 
another  hypothesis,  that  all  the  misery  and  vice  that 


300  ESSAY   IV. 

is  in  the  world  is  a  necessary  ingredient  in  that  system 
which  produces  the  greatest  sum  of  happineas  upon 
the  whole.  This  connection  hetwecn  the  greatest  sum 
of  happiness  and  all  the  misery  that  is  in  the  universe, 
must  he  fatal  and  necessary  in  the  nature  of  things,  so 
that  even  Almighty  power  cannot  hrcak  it:  for  benev- 
olence can  never  lead  to  inflict  misery  without  neces- 
sity. 

This  necessary  connection  between  the  greatest  sum 
of  happiness  upon  the  whole,  and  all  the  natural  and 
moral  evil  that  is,  or  has  been,  or  shall  be,  being  once 
established,  it  is  impossible  for  mortal  eyes  to  discern 
how  far  this  evil  may  extend,  or  on  whom  it  may  hap- 
pen to  fall ;  whether  this  fatal  connection  may  be  tem- 
porary or  eternal,  or  what  proportion  of  the  happiness 
may  be  balanced  by  it. 

A  world  made  by  perfect  wisdom  and  Almighty  pow- 
er, for  no  other  end  but  to  make  it  happy,  presents  the 
most  pleasing  prospect  that  can  be  imagined.  We  ex- 
pect nothing  but  uninterrupted  happiness  to  prevail  for 
ever.  But,  alas  !  when  we  consider  that  in  this  hap- 
piest system,  there  must  be  necessarily  all  the  misery 
and  vice  we  see,  and  how  much  more  we  know  not, 
how  is  the  prospect  darkened  ! 

These  two  hypotheses,  the  one  limiting  the  moral 
character  of  the  Deity,  the  other  limiting  his  power, 
seem  to  me  to  be  the  necessarv  consequences  of  necessi- 
ty, when  it  is  joined  with  theism;  and  they  have  ac- 
cordingly been  adopted  by  the  ablest  defenders  of  that 
doctrine. 

If  some  defenders  of  liberty,  by  limiting  too  rashly 
the  Divine  prescience,  in  order  to  defend  that  system, 
have  raised  high  indignation  in  their  opponents;  have 
they  not  equal  ground  of  indignation  against  those, 
who,  to  defend  necessity,  limit  the  moral  perfection  of 
the  Deityj  and  his  Almighty  power  ? 


OF   THE   PERMISSION    OF   EVIL.  301 

Let  US  consider,  on  the  other  hand,  what  conse- 
quences  may  be  fairly  drawn  from  God's  permitting 
the  abuse  of  liberty  in  agents  on  whom  he  has  bestow- 
ed it. 

If  it  be  asked,  why  does  God  permit  so  much  sin  in 
his  creation  ?  I  confess  I  cannot  answer  the  question, 
but  must  lay  my  hand  upon  my  mouth.  He  giveth  no 
account  of  his  conduct  to  the  children  of  men.  It  is 
our  part  to  obey  his  commands,  and  not  to  say  unto 
him,  why  dost  thou  thus  ? 

Hypotheses  might  be  framed ;  but,  while'we  have 
ground  to  be  satisfied,  that  he  does  nothing  but  what  is 
right,  it  is  more  becoming  us  to  acknowledge  that  the 
ends  and  reasons  of  his  universal  government  are  be- 
yond our  knowledge,  and  perhaps  beyond  the  compre- 
hension of  human  understanding.  We  cannot  pene- 
trate so  far  into  the  counsel  of  tlie  Almighty,  as  to 
know  all  the  reasons  why  it  became  him,  of  whom  are 
all  things,  and  to  whom  are  all  things,  to  create,  not 
only  machines,  which  are  solely  moved  by  his  hand,  but 
servants  and  children,  who,  by  obeying  his  commands, 
and  imitating  his  moral  perfections,  might  rise  to  a 
high  degree  of  glory  and  happiness  in  his  favour,  or,  by 
perverse  disobedience,  might  incur  guilt  and  just  punish- 
ment. In  this  he  appears  to  us  awful  in  his  justice,  as 
ivell  as  amiable  in  his  goodness. 

But,  as  he  disdains  not  to  appeal  to  men  fortheequi* 
ty  of  his  proceedings  toward  them  when  his  character 
is  Impeached,  we  may,  with  humble  reverence,  plead 
for  God,  and  vindicate  that  moral  excellence  which  is 
the  glory  of  his  nature,  and  of  which  the  image  is  the 
glory  and  the  perfection  of  man.    . 

Let  us  observe  first  of  all,  that  to  permit  has  two 

meanings.     It  signifies  not  to  forbid,  and  it  signifies 

not  to  hinder  by  superior  power.    In  the  first  of  these 

senses,  God  never  permits  sin.    His  law  forbids  every 

VOL,  IV.  39 


302  ESSAY   IV, 

moral  evil.  By  his  laws  and  by  his  government,  he 
gives  every  encouragment  to  good  conduct,  and  every 
discouragement  to  bad.  But  he  does  not  always,  by 
his  superior  power,  hinder  it  from  being  committed. 
This  is  the  ground  of  the  accusation ;  and  this,  it  is 
said,  is  the  very  same  thing  as  directly  to  will  and  to 
cause  it. 

As  this  is  asserted  without  proof,  and  is  far  from 
being  self-evident,  it  might  be  sufficient  to  deny  it  un- 
til it  be  proved.  But,  without  resting  barely  on  the  de- 
fensive, we  may  observe,  that  the  only  moral  attributes 
that  can  be  supposed  inconsistent  with  the  permission  of 
sin,  are  either  goodness  or  justice. 

The  defenders  of  necessity,  with  whom  we  have  to 
do  in  this  point,  as  they  maintain  that  goodness  is  the 
only  essential  moral  attribute  of  the  Deity,  and  the 
motive  of  all  his  actions,  must,  if  they  will  be  consistent, 
maintain,  that  to  will,  and  directly  to  cause  sin,  much 
more  not  to  hinder  it,  is  consistent  with  perfect  good- 
ness, nay,  that  goodness  is  a  sufficient  motive  to  justify 
the  willing  and  directly  causing  it. 

With  regard  to  them,  therefore,  it  is  surely  unneces- 
sary to  attempt  to  reconcile  the  permission  of  sin  with 
the  goodness  of  God,  since  an  inconsistency  between 
that  attribute  and  the  causing  of  sin  would  overturn 
their  whole  system. 

If  the  causing  of  moral  evil,  and  being  the  real  au- 
thor of  it,  be  consistent  with  perfect  goodness,  what 
pretence  can  there  be  to  say,  that  not  to  hinder  it  is  in- 
consistent with  perfect  goodness? 

What  is  incumbent  upon  them,  therefore,  to  prove  is, 
that  the  permission  of  sin  is  inconsistent  with  justice; 
and,  upon  this  point,  we  are  ready  to  join  issue  with 
them. 

But  what  pretence  can  there  be  to  say,  that  the  per- 
mission of  sin  is  perfectly  consistent  with  goodness  in 
the  Deity,  but  inconsistent  with  justice  ? 


OF   THE   PEKMISSION   OF  EVIL.  303 

Is  it  not  as  easy  to  conceive,  that  he  should  permit 
sin  though  virtue  be  his  delight,  as  that  he  inflicts  mis- 
ery, when  his  sole  delight  is  to  bestow  happiness?  Should 
it  appear  incredible,  that  the  permission  of  sin  may 
tend  to  promote  virtue,  to  them  who  believe  that  the  in- 
fliction of  misery  is  necessary  to  promote  happiness : 

The  jusfice,  as  well  as  the  goodness  of  God's  moral 
government  of  mankind,  appears  in  this :  that  his 
laws  are  not  arbitrary  nor  grievous,  as  it  is  only  by 
the  obedience  of  them  that  our  nature  can  be  perfect- 
ed and  qualified  for  future  happiness ;  that  he  is  ready 
to  aid  our  weakness,  to  help  our  infirmities,  and  not 
to  suffer  us  to  be  tempted  above  what  we  are  able  to 
bear ;  that  he  is  not  strict  to  mark  iniquity,  or  to  exe- 
cute judgment  speedily  against  an  evil  work,  but  is 
long-suff*ering,  and  waits  to  be  gracious;  that  lie  is 
ready  to  receive  the  humble  penitent  to  his  favour; 
that  he  is  no  respecter  of  persons,  but  in  every  nation 
he  that  fears  God  and  works  righteousness  is  accepted 
of  him;  that  of  every  man  he  will  require  an  account, 
proportioned  to  the  talents  he  has  received ;  that  he 
delights  in  mercy,  but  has  no  pleasure  in  the  death 
of  the  wicked;  and  therefore  in  punishing  will  never 
go  beyond  the  demerit  of  the  criminal,  nor  beyond  what 
the  rules  of  his  universal  government  require. 

There  were,  in  ancient  ages,  some  who  said,  the  way 
of  the  Lord  is  not  equal ;  to  whom  the  prophet,  in  the 
name  of  God,  makes  this  reply,  which,  in  all  ages,  is 
sufficient  to  repel  this  accusation.  Hear  now,  O  house 
of  Israel,  Is  not  ray  way  equal,  are  not  your  ways  un» 
equal  ?  When  a  righteous  man  turneth  away  from  his 
righteousness,  and  committeth  iniquity ;  for  his  ini- 
quity which  he  has  done  shall  he  die.  Again,  when 
a  wicked  man  turneth  away  from  his  wickedness  that 
he  has  committed,  and  doth  that  which  is  lawful  and 
right,  he  shall  save  his  soul  alive.  O  house  of  Israel, 
are  not  my  ways  equal;  are  not  your  ways  unequal  ? 


30*  ESSAY    IV. 

Repent,  and  turn  from  all  your  transgressions  ;  so  in- 
iquity sball  not  be  your  ruin.  Cast  away  from  you  all 
your  transgressions  whereby  you  have  transgressed, 
and  make  you  a  new  heart  and  a  new  spirit,  for  why 
will  ye  die,  O  house  of  Israel  ?  For  I  have  no  pleasure 
in  the  death  of  him  that  dieth,  saith  the  Lord  God. 

Another  argument  for  necessity  has  been  lately  of- 
fered, which  we  shall  very  briefly  consider. 

It  has  been  maintained,  that  the  power  of  thinking 
is  the  result  of  a  certain  modiGcatiun  of  matter,  and 
that  a  certain  configuration  of  brain  makes  a  soul; 
and,  if  man  be  wholly  a  material  being,  it  is  said,  that 
it  will  not  be  denied,  that  he  must  be  a  mechanical  be- 
ing; that  the  doctrine  of  necessity  is  a  direct  infer- 
ence from  that  of  materialism,  and  its  undoubted  con- 
sequence. 

As  this  argument  can  have  no  weight  with  those 
who  do  not  see  reason  to  embrace  this  system  of  ma- 
terialism ;  so,  even  with  those  who  do,  it  seems  to  me 
to  be  a  mere  sophism. 

Philosophers  have  been  wont  to  conceive  matter  to 
be  an  inert  passive  being,  and  to  have  certain  proper- 
ties inconsistent  with  the  power  of  thinking  or  of  act- 
ing. But  a  philosopher  arises,  who  proves,  we  shall 
suppose,  that  we  were  quite  mistaken  in  our  notion  of 
matter  ;  that  it  has  not  the  properties  we  supposed, 
and,  in  fact,  has  no  properties  but  those  of  attraction 
and  repulsion  ;  but  still  he  thinks,  that,  being  matter, 
it  will  not  be  denied  that  it  is  a  mechanical  being,  and 
that  the  doctrine  of  necessity  is  a  direct  inference  from 
that  of  materialism. 

Herein,  however,  he  deceives  himself.  If  matter 
be  what  we  conceived  it  to  be,  it  is  equally  incapable  of 
thinking  and  of  acting  freely.  But  if  the  properties, 
from  which  we  drew  this  conclusion,  have  no  reality, 
^s  he  thinks  he  has  proved  j  if  it  have  the  povers  of 


or    THE    PEKMISSION   OF   EVII.  30B 

attraction  and  repulsion,  and  require  only  a  certain 
configuration  to  make  it  think  rationally,  it  will  be 
impossible  to  show  any  good  reason  why  the  same  con- 
figuration may  not  make  it  act  rationally  and  freely. 
If  its  reproach  of  solidity,  inertness,  and  sluggishness 
be  wiped  off;  and  if  it  be  raised  in  our  esteem  to  a 
nearer  approach  to  the  nature  of  what  we  call  spiritual 
and  immaterial  beings,  why  should  it  still  be  nothing 
but  a  mechanical  being  ?  Is  its  solidity,  inertness,  and 
sluggishness  to  be  first  removed  to  make  it  capable  of 
thinking,  and  then  restored  in  order  to  make  it  inca- 
pable of  acting  ? 

Those,  therefore,  who  reason  justly  from  this  sys- 
tem of  materialism,  will  easily  perceive,  that  the  doe- 
trine  of  necessity  is  so  far  from  being  a  direct  infer- 
ence, that  it  can  receive  no  support  from  it. 

To  conclude  this  Essay  :  extremes  of  all  kinds  ought 
to  be  avoided ;  yet  men  are  prone  to  run  into  them ;  and, 
to  shun  one  extreme,  we  often  run  into  the  contrary. 
Of  all  extremes  of  opinions,  none  are  more  danger- 
ous than  those  that  exalt  the  powers  of  man  too  high) 
on  the  one  hand,  or  sink  them  too  low  on  the  other. 

By  raising  them  too  high,  we  feed  pride  and  vain- 
glory ;  w-e  lose  the  sense  of  our  dependence  upon  God, 
and  engage  in  attempts  beyond  our  abilities.  By  de- 
pressing them  too  low,  we  cut  the  sinews  of  action 
and  of  obligation,  and  are  tempted  to  think,  that,  as 
we  can  do  nothing,  we  have  nothing  to  do,  but  to  be 
carried  passively  along  by  the  stream  of  necessity. 

Some  good  men,  apprehending  that,  to  kill  pride 
and  vain-glory,  our  active  powers  cannot  be  too  much 
depressed,  have  been  led,  by  zeal  for  religion,  to  de- 
prive us  of  all  active  power.  Other  good  men,  by  a 
like  zeal,  have  been  led  to  depreciate  the  human  under- 
standing, and  to  put  out  the  light  of  nature  and  reason, 
in  order  to  exalt  that  of  revelation. 


306  ESSAY   1>. 

Those  Aveapons  which  were  taken  up  in  support  of 
religioDy  are  now  employed  to  overturn  it^  and  what 
was,  by  some,  accounted  the  bulwark  of  orthodoxy,  is 
become  the  strong-hold  of  atheism  and  infidelity. 

Atheists  join  hands  with  theologians,  in  depriving 
man  of  all  active  power,  that  they  may  destroy  all 
moral  obligation,  and  all  sense  of  right  and  wrong. 
They  join  hands  with  theologians,  in  depreciating  the 
human  understanding,  that  they  may  lead  us  into  abso- 
lute skepticism. 

God,  in  mercy  to  the  human  race,  has  made  us  of 
such  a  frame,  that  no  speculative  opinion  whatsoever 
can  root  out  the  sense  of  guilt  and  demerit  when  we  do 
wrong,  nor  the  peaceand  joy  of  agood  conscience  when 
we  do  what  is  right.  No  speculative  opinion  can  root 
out  a  regard  to  the  testimony  of  our  senses,  of  our 
memory,  and  of  our  rational  faculties.  But  we  have 
reason  to  be  jealous  of  opinions  which  run  counter  to 
those  natural  sentiments  of  the  human  mind,  and 
tend  to  shake,  though  they  never  can  eradicate  them. 

There  is  little  reason  to  fear,  that  the  conduct  of 
men,  with  regard  to  the  concerns  of  the  present  life, 
will  ever  be  much  afiected,  either  by  the  doctrine  of 
necessity,  or  by  skepticism.  It  were  to  be  wished, 
that  men's  conduct,  with  regard  to  the  concerns  of  an- 
other life,  were  in  as  little  danger  from  those  opinions. 

In  the  present  state,  we  see  some  who  zealously 
maintain  the  doctrine  of  necessity,  others  who  as  zeal- 
ously maintain  that  of  liberty.  One  would  be  apt  to 
think,  that  a  practical  belief  of  these  contrary  systems 
should  produce  very  diiferent  conduct  in  them  that 
hold  them  ;  yet  we  see  uo  such  difference  in  the  affairs 
of  common  life. 

The  Fatalist  deliberates,  and  resolves,  and  plights 
his  faith.  He  lays  down  a  plan  of  conduct,  and  prose- 
cutes it  with  vigour  and  industry.    He  exhorts,  and 


OF  THE   PERMISSION   OP  EVIL.  307 

coDimands,  and  holds  those  to  be  answerable  for  their 
conduct  to  whom  he  has  committed  an^^  charge.  He 
blames  those  that  are  false  or  unfaithful  to  him  as  other 
raen  do.  He  perceives  dignity  and  worth  in  some 
characters  and  actions,  and  in  others,  demerit  and 
'turpitude.  He  resents  injuries,  and  is  grateful  for 
good  offices. 

If  any  man  should  plead  the  doctrine  of  necessity 
to  exculpate  murder,  theft,  or  robbery,  or  even  wilful 
negligence  in  the  discharge  of  his  duty,  his  judge, 
though  a  Fatalist,  if  he  had  common  sense,  would 
laugh  at  such  a  plea,  and  would  not  allow  it  even  to 
alleviate  the  crime. 

In  all  such  cases,  he  sees  that  it  would  be  absurd 
not  to  act  and  to  judge  as  those  ought  to  do  who  be- 
lieve themselves  and  other  men  to  be  free  agents,  just 
as  the  skeptic,  to  avoid  absurdity,  must,  when  he  goes 
into  the  world,  act  and  judge  like  other  meli  who  are 
not  skeptics. 

If  the  Fatalist  be  as  little  influenced  by  the  opinion 
of  necessity  in  his  moral  and  religious  concerns,  and 
in  his  expectations  concerning  another  world,  as  he  is  in 
the  common  afiairs  of  life,  his  speculative  opinion  will 
probably  de  him  little  hurt.  But,  if  he  trust  so  far 
to  the  doctrine  of  necessity,  as  to  indulge  sloth  and 
inactivity  in  his  duty,  and  hope  to  exculpate  himself  to 
his  Maker  by  that  doctrine,  let  him  consider  whether 
he  sustains  this  excuse  from  his  servants  and  depend* 
ants,  when  they  are  negligent  or  unfaithful  in  what  is 
committed  to  their  charge. 

Bishop  Butler,  in  his  tAnalogyt  has  an  excellent 
chapter  upon  the  opinion  of  necessity,  considered  as 
influencing  practice,  which  I  think  highly  deserving 
the  consideration  of  those  who  are  inclined  to  that 
opinion. 


ESSAY  V. 


OF  MORALS. 
CHAP.  I. 

OF  THE   FIBST  PRINCIPLES   OF  MOBAXS. 

MoRAT.s,  like  all  other  sciences,  must  have  first  prin- 
ciples«  on  which  all  moral  reasoning  is  grounded. 

In  every  branch  of  knowledge  where  disputes  have 
been  raised,  it  is  useful  to  distinguish  the  first  prin- 
ciples from  the  superstructure.  They  are  the  founda* 
lion  on  which  the  whole  fabric  of  the  science  leans ; 
and  whatever  is  not  supported  by  this  foundation  can 
have  no  stability. 

In  all  rational  belief,  the  thing  believed  is  either 
itself  a  first  principle,  or  it  is  by  just  reasoning  deduced 
from  first  principles.  When  men  difier  about  deduc- 
tions of  reasoning,  the  appeal  must  be  made  to  the  rules 
of  reasoning,  which  have  been  very  unanimously  fixed 
from  the  days  of  Aristotle.  But  when  they  dififer  about 
a  first  principle,  the  appeal  is  made  to  another  tribu- 
nal j  to  that  of  common  sense. 

How  the  genuine  decisions  of  common  sense  may 
be  distinguished  from  the  counterfeit,  has  been  con- 
sidered in  essay  sixth,  on  the  intellectual  powers  of 
man,  chapter  fourth,  to  which  the  reader  is  referred. 
What  I  would  here  observe  is,  that  as  first  principles 
differ  from  deductions  of  reasoning  Iq  the  nature  of 


OF   THE    FIRST    rRlNCIPlES    OF    MORALS.        809 

their  evidence,  and  must  be  tried  by  a  different  stand- 
ard when  they  are  called  in  question,  it  is  of  importance 
to  know  to  which  of  these  two  classes  a  truth  which  we 
would  examine  belongs.  When  they  are  not  distin- 
guished, men  are  apt  to  demand  proof  for  every  thing 
they  think  tit  to  deny  :  and  when  we  attempt  to  prove 
by  direct  argument,  what  is  really  self-evident,  the 
reasoning  will  always  be  inconclusive;  for  it  will  either 
take  for  granted  the  thing  to  be  proved,  or  something 
not  more  evident;  and  so,  instead  of  giving  strength  to 
the  conclusion,  will  rather  tempt  those  to  doubt  of  it, 
who  never  did  so  before. 

I  propose,  therefore,  in  this  chapter,  to  point  out 
some  of  the  first  principles  of  morals,  witliout  pretend- 
ing to  a  complete  enumeration. 

The  principles  I  am  to  mention,  relate  either  to  vir- 
tue in  general,  or  to  the  ditferent  particular  branches 
of  virtue,  or  to  the  comparison  of  virtues  where  they 
seem  to  interfere. 

1st,  There  are  some  things  in  human  conduct,  that 
merit  approbation  and  praise,  others  that  merit  blame 
and  punishment ;  and  different  degrees  either  of  ap- 
probation or  of  blame,  are  due  to  different  actions. 

2dly,' What  is  in  no  degree  voluntary,  can  neither  de- 
serve moral  approbation  nor  blame. 

Sdly,  What  is  done  from  unavoidable  necessity  may 
be  agreeable  or  disagreeable,  useful  or  hurtful,  but 
cannot  be  the  object  either  of  blame  or  of  moral  ap- 
probation. 

ithly.  Men  may  be  highly  culpable  in  omitting  what 
they  ought  to  have  done,  as  well  as  in  doing  what  they 
ought  not. 

5thly,  We  ought  to  use  the  best  means  we  can  to  be 
well  informed  of  our  duty,  by  serious  attention  to  moral 
instruction  ;  by  observing  what  we  approve,  and  what 
we  disapprove,  in  other  men,  whether  our  acquaintance, 

vol.  IV.  40 


310  ESSAY   V. 

01"  those  whose  actions  are  recorded  in  history  ;\hy  re- 
flecting often,  in  a  calm  and  dispassionate  hour,  on  our 
own  past  conduct,  that  we  may  discern  what  was  wrong, 
what  was  right,  and  what  might  have  been  better  j  by 
deliberating  cooly  and  impartially  upon  our  future  con- 
duct, as  far  as  we  can  foresee  the  opportunities  we  may 
have  of  doing  good,  or  the  temptations  to  do  wrong  j 
and  by  having  this  principle  deeply  fixed  in  our  minds, 
that  as  moral  excellence  is  the  true  worth  and  glory  of 
a  man,  so  the  knowledge  of  our  duty  is  to  every  man, 
in  every  station  of  life,  the  most  important  of  all  knowl- 
edge.J 

6thly,  It  ought  to  be  our  most  serious  concern  to  do 
our  duty  as  far  as  we  know  it,  and  to  fortify  our  minds 
against  every  temptation  to  deviate  from  it  j  (by  main- 
taining a  lively  sense  of  the  beauty  of  right  conduct, 
and  of  its  present  and  future  reward,  of  the  turpi- 
tude of  vice,  and  of  its  bad  consequences  here  and  here- 
after ;  by  having  always  in  our  eye  the  noblest  exam- 
ples ;  by  the  habit  of  subjecting  our  passions  to  the 
government  of  reason  ;  by  firm  purposes  and  resolutions 
with  regard  to  our  conduct;  by  avoiding  occasions  of 
temptation  when  we  can  ;  and  by  imploring  the  aid  of 
him  who  made  us,  in  every  hour  of  temptation^ 

These  principles  concerning  virtue  and  vice  in  general, 
must  appear  self-evident  to  every  man  who  has  a  con- 
science, and  who  has  taken  pains  to  exercise  this  natu- 
ral power  of  his  mind.  1  proceed  to  others  that  are 
more  particular. 

1st,  We  ought  to  prefer  a  greater  good,  though 
more  distant,  to  a  less ;  and  a  less  evil  to  a  greater. 
[Note  U  U.] 

A  regard  to  our  own  good,  though  we  had  no  con- 
science, dictates  this  principle;  and  we  cannot  help 
disapproving  the  man  that  acts  contrary  to  it,  as  de- 
serving to  loose  the  good  which  he   wantonly  threw 


OF   THE   FIRST   PRINCIPXES    OF   MORALS.        311 

away,  and  to  suffer  the  evil  which  he  knowingly  brought 
upon  his  own  head. 

We  observed  before,  that  the  ancient  moralists,  and 
many  among  the  modern,  have  deduced  the  whole  of 
morals  from  this  principle,  and  that  when  we  make  a 
right  estimate  of  goods  and  evils  according  to  their 
degree,  their  dignity,  their  duration,  and  according 
as  they  are  more  or  less  in  our  power,  it  leads  to  the 
practice  of  every  virtue  :  more  directly,  indeed,  to 
the  virtues  of  self-government,  to  prudence,  to  tem- 
perance, and  to  fortitude ;  and,  though  more  indirect- 
ly even  to  justice,  humanity,  and  all  the  social  virtues, 
when  their  influence  upon  our  happiness  is  well  under- 
stood. 

Though  it  be  not  the  noblest  principle  of  conduct,  it 
lias  this  peculiar  advantage,  that  its  force  is  felt  by  the 
most  ignorant,  and  even  by  the  most  abandoned. 

Let  a  man's  moral  judgment  be  ever  so  little  im- 
proved by  exercise,  or  ever  so  much  corrupted  by  bad 
habits,  he  cannot  be  indifferent  to  his  own  happiness  or 
misery.  When  he  is  become  insensible  to  every  no- 
bler motive  to  right  conduct,  he  cannot  be  insensible  to 
this.  And  though  to  act  from  this  motive  solely,  may 
be  called  prudence  rather  than  iwiwe,  yet  this  pru- 
dence deserves  some  regard  upon  its  own  account,  and 
much  more  as  it  is  the  friend  and  ally  of  virtue,  and 
the  enemy  of  all  vicej  and  as  it  gives  a  favourable 
testimony  of  virtue  to  those  who  are  deaf  to  every 
other  recommendation. 

If  a  man  can  be  induced  to  do  his  duty  even  from 
a  regard  to  his  own  happiness,  he  will  soon  find  reason 
to  love  virtue  for  her  own  sake,  and  to  act  from  mo- 
tives less  mercenary. 

I  cannot  therefore  approve  of  those  moralists,  who 
would  banish  all  persuasives  to  virtue  taken  from  the 
consideration  of  private  good.     In  the  present  state  of 


312  ESSAY   y. 

human  nature  these  are  not  useless  to  the  best,  and 
they  are  the  onlj  means  left  of  reclaiming  the  aban- 
doned. 

2dly,  As  far  as  the  intention  of  nature  appears  in  the 
constitution  of  man,  we  ought  to  comply  with  that  in- 
tention, and  to  act  agreeably  to  it. 

The  Author  of  our  being  has  given  us  not  only 
the  power  of  acting  within  a  limited  sphere,  but  va- 
rious principles  or  springs  of  actioui  of  different  nature 
and  dignity,  to  direct  u$  in  the  exercise  of  our  active 
power. 

From  the  constitution  of  every  species  of  the  inferi- 
or animals,  and  especially  from  the  active  principles 
which  nature  has  given  them,  we  easily  perceive  the 
manner  of  life  for  which  nature  intended  them;  and 
they  uniformly  act  the  part  to  which  they  are  led  by 
their  constitution,  without  any  reflection  upon  it,  or  in- 
tention of  obeying  its  dictates.  Man  only,  of  the  in- 
habitants of  this  world,  is  made  capable  of  observing 
his  own  constitution,  what  kind  of  life  it  is  made  for, 
and  of  acting  according  to  that  intention,  or  contrary 
to  it.  He  only  is  capable  of  yielding  an  intentional 
obedience  to  the  dictates  of  his  nature,  or  of  rebelling 
against  them. 

In  treating  of  the  principles  of  action  in  man,  it  has 
been  shown,  that  as  his  natural  instincts  and  bodily 
appetites,  are  well  adapted  to  the  preservation  of  his 
natural  life,  and  to  the  continuance  of  the  species  ;  so 
his  natural  desires,  afteclions,  and  passions,  when  un- 
corrupted  by  vicious  habits,  and  under  the  government 
of  the  leading  principles  of  reason  and  conscience,  are 
excellently  fitted  for  the  rational  and  social  life.  Every 
vicious  action  shows  an  excess,  or  defect,  or  wrong 
direction  of  some  natural  spring  of  action,  and  there- 
fore may,  very  justly,  be  said  to  be  unnatural.  Every 
virtuous  action  agrees  with  the  uncorrupted  principles 
of  human  nature. 


OF  THE  FIRST  PRINCIPLES    OF  MORALS.  313 

The  Stoics  defined  virtue  to  be  a  life  according  to 
nature.  Some  of  them  more  accurately,  a  life  accord- 
ing to  the  nature  of  man,  in  so  far  as  it  is  superior  to 
that  of  brutes.  The  life  of  a  brute  is  according  to  the 
nature  of  the  brute ;  but  it  is  neither  virtuous  nor  vic- 
ious. The  life  of  a  moral  agent  cannot  be  according 
to  his  nature,  unless  it  be  virtuous.  That  conscience, 
which  is  in  every  man*s  breast,  is  the  law  of  God  writ- 
ten Id  his  heart,  which  he  cannot  disobey  without  act- 
ing unnaturally,  and  being  self-condemned. 

The  intention  of  nature,  in  the  various  active  prin- 
ciples of  man,  in  the  desires  of  power,  of  knowledge, 
and  of  esteem,  in  the  affection  to  children,  to  near  re- 
lations, and  to  the  communities  to  which  we  belong, 
in  gratitude,  in  compassion,  and  even  in  resentment  and 
emulation,  is  very  obvious,  and  has  been  pointed  out 
in  treating  of  those  principles.  Nor  is  it  less  evident, 
that  reason  and  conscience  are  given  us  to  regulate  the 
inferior  principles,  so  that  they  may  conspire,  in  a  reg- 
ular and  consistent  plan  of  life,  in  pursuit  of  some 
worthy  end. 

3dly,  No  man  is  born  for  himself  only.  I  Every  man, 
therefore,  ought  to  consider  himself  as  a  member  of 
the  common  society  of  mankind,  and  of  those  subor- 
dinate societies  to  which  he  belongs,  such  as  family, 
friends,  neighbourhood,  country,  and  to  do  as  much 
good  as  he  can,  and  as  little  hurt  to  the  societies  of 
which  he  is  a  part.V" 

This  axiom  leads  directly  to  the  practice  of  every 
social  virtue,  and  indirectly  to  the  virtues  of  self-gov- 
ernment, by  which  only  we  can  be  qualified  for  dis- 
charging  the  duty  we  owe  to  society,  j 

4thly,  In  every  case,  we  ought  to  act  that  part  to- 
ward another,  which  we  would  judge  to  be  right  in  him 
to  act  toward  us,  if  we  were  in  his  circumstances  and 
he  in  ours ;  or,  more  generally,  what  we  approve  in 


314  ESSAY   V. 

Others,  that  we  ought  to  practise  in  like  circumstances, 
and  what  we  condemn  in  others  we  ought  not  to  do. 

If  there  be  any  such  thing  as  right  and  wrong  in  the 
conduct  of  moral  agents,  it  must  be  the  same  to  all  in 
the  same  circumstances. 

We  stand  all  in  the  same  relation  to  Him  who  made 
us,  and  will  call  us  to  account  for  our  conduct :  for 
with  him  there  is  no  respect  of  persons.  We  stafld  in 
the  same  relation  to  one  another  as  members  of  the 
great  community  of  mankind.  The  duties  consequent 
upon  the  different  ranks,  and  offices,  and  relations  of 
men,  are  the  same  to  all  in  the  same  circumstances. 

It  is  not  want  of  judgment,  but  want  of  candour  and 
impartiality,  that  hinders  men  from  discerning  what 
they  owe  to  others.  They  are  quicksighted  enough 
in  discerning  what  is  due  to  themselves.  When  they 
are  injured,  or  ill  treated,  they  see  it,  and  feel  resent- 
ment. It  is  the  want  of  candour  that  makes  men  use 
one  measure  for  the  duty  they  owe  to  others,  and  anoth- 
er measure  for  the  duty  tliat  others  owe  to  them  in 
like  circumstances.  That  men  ought  to  judge  with 
candour,  as  in  all  other  cases,  so  especially  in  what  con- 
cerns their  moral  conduct,  is  surely  self-evident  to 
every  intelligent  being.  The  man  who  takes  offence 
Avhen  he  is  injured  in  his  person,  in  his  property,  in  his 
good  name,  pronounces  judgment  against  himself  if  he 
act  so  toward  his  neighbour. 

As  the  equity  and  obligation  of  this  rule  of  conduct 
is  self-evident  to  every  man  who  has  a  conscience , 
90  it  is,  of  all  the  rules  of  morality,  the  most  compre- 
hensive, and  truly  deserves  the  encomium  given  it 
by  the  highest  authority,  that  it  is  the  law  and  the 
'pi'ophets. 

It  comprehends  every  rule  of  justice  without  excep- 
tion. It  comprehends  all  the  relative  duties,  arising 
either  from  the  more  permanent  relations  of  parent  and 


OF   THE   FIRST   PRINCIPLES   OF  MORALS.         315 

child,  of  master  and  servant,  of  magistrate  and  subject, 
of  husband  and  wife  ;  or  from  the  more  transient  re- 
lations of  rich  and  poor,  of  buyer  and  seller,  of  debtor 
and  creditor,  of  benefactor  and  beneficiary,  of  friend 
and  enemy.  It  comprehends  every  duty  of  charity 
and  humanity,  and  even  of  courtesy  and  good  man- 
ners. 

Nay,  I  think,  that,  without  any  force  or  straining,  it 
extends  even  to  the  duties  of  self-government.  For, 
as  every  man  approves  in  others  the  virtues  of  prudence, 
temperance,  self-command  and  fortitude,  he  must  per- 
ceive, that  what  is  right  in  others  must  be  right  in  him- 
self in  like  circumstances. 

To  sum  up  all,  he  who  acts  invariably  by  this  rule 
will  never  deviate  from  the  path  of  his  duty,  but  from 
an  error  of  judgment.  And,  as  he  feels  the  obligation 
that  he  and  all  men  are  under,  to  use  the  best  means 
in  his  power  to  have  his  judgment  well-informed  in 
matters  of  duty,  his  errors  wiU  only  be  such  as  are  in- 
vincible. 

It  may  be  observed,  that  this  axiom  supposes  a  fac- 
ulty in  man  by  which  he  can  distinguish  right  conduct 
from  wrong.  It  supposes  also,  that,  by  this  faculty, 
we  easily  perceive  the  right  and  the  wrong  in  other 
men  that  are  indifferent  to  us  ;  but  are  very  apt  to  be 
blinded  by  the  partiality  of  selfish  passions  when  the 
case  concerns  ourselves.  Every  claim  we  have  against 
others  is  apt  to  be  magnified  by  self-love,  when  view- 
ed directly.  A  change  of  persons  removes  this  prej- 
udice, and  brings  the  claim  to  appear  in  its  just  mag- 
nitude. 

5thly,  To  every  man  who  believes  the  existence,  the 
perfections,  and  the  providence  of  God,  the  veneration 
and  submission  we  owe  to  him  is  self-evident.  Right 
sentiments  of  the  Deity  and  of  his  works,  not  only 
make  the  duty  we  owe  to  him  obvious  to  every  intelli- 


316  Essay   v. 

gent  being,  but  likewise  add  the  authority  of  a  divine 
law  to  every  rule  of  right  conduct. 

There  is  another  class  of  axiouas  in  morals,  by  which, 
when  there  seems  to  be  an  opposition  between  the  ac- 
tions that  different  virtues  lead  to,  we  determine  to 
which  the  preference  is  due. 

Between  the  several  virtues-  as  they  are  dispositions 
of  mind,  or  determinations  of  will  to  act  according  to 
a  certain  general  rule,  there  can  be  no  opposition. 
They  dwell  together  most  amicably,  and  give  mutual 
aid  and  ornament,  without  the  possibility  of  hostility 
or  opposition,  and,  taken  altogether,  make  one  uniform 
and  consistent  rule  of  conduct.  But,  between  partic- 
ular external  actions,  which  different  virtues  would 
lead  to,  there  may  be  an  opposition.  Thus,  the  same 
man  may  be  in  his  heart,  generous,  grateful,  and  just. 
These  dispositions  strengthen,  but  never  can  weaken 
one  another.  Yet  it  may  happen,  that  an  external  ac- 
tion which  generosity  or  gratitude  solicits,  justice  may 
forbid. 

That  in  all  such  cases,  unmerited  generosity  should 
yield  to  gratitude,  and  both  to  justice,  is  self  evident. 
Nor  is  it  less  so,  that  unmerited  beneficence  to  those 
who  are  at  ease  should  yield  to  compassion  to  the  mis- 
erable, and  external  acts  of  piety  to  works  of  mercy, 
because  God  loves  mercy  more  than  sacrifice. 

At  the  same  time,  we  perceive,  that  those  acts  of 
virtue  which  ought  to  yield  in  the  case  of  a  competi- 
tion, have  most  intrinsic  worth  when  there  is  no  com- 
petition. Thus,  it  is  evident  that  there  is  more  worth 
in  pure  and  unmerited  benevolence  than  in  compassion, 
more  in  compassion  than  in  gratitude,  and  more  in 
gratitude  than  injustice. 

I  call  these  Jirst  principles,  because  they  appear  to 
me  to  have  in  themselves  an  intuitive  evidence  which 
I  cannot  resist.    I  find  I  can  express  them  in  other 


OF   THE    FIRST   PRINCIPLES    OF    MORALS.         317 

words.  I  can  illustrate  them  by  examples  and  author- 
ities, and  perhaps  can  deduce  one  of  them  irom  anoth- 
er; but  I  am  not  able  to  deduce  them  from  other  prin- 
ciples that  are  more  evident.  And  I  find  the  best  mor- 
al reasonings  of  authors  I  am  acquainted  with,  ancient 
and  modern,  heathen  and  christian,  to  be  grounded  up- 
on one  or  more  of  (hem. 

The  evidence  of  mathematical  axioms  is  not  discern- 
ed till  men  come  to  a  certain  degree  of  maturity  of  un- 
derstanding. A  boy  must  have  formed  the  general 
conception  of  quantily,  and  of  more,  and  less,  and  equal; 
of  sum,  and  difference;  and  he  must  have  been  accus- 
tomed to  judge  of  these  relations  in  matters  of  common 
life,  before  he  can  perceive  the  evidence  of  the  mathe- 
matical axiom,  that  equal  quantities,  added  to  equal 
quantities,  make  equal  sums. 

In  like  manner,  our  moral  judgment,  or  conscience, 
grows  to  maturity  from  an  imperceptible  seed,  planted 
by  our  Creator.  When  we  are  capable  of  contemplat- 
ing the  actions  of  other  men,  or  of  reflecting  upon  our 
own  calmly  and  dispassionately,  we  begin  to  perceive 
in  them  the  qualities  of  honest  and  dishonest,  of  hon- 
orable and  base,  of  right  and  wrong,  and  to  feel  the 
sentiments  of  moral  approbation  and  disapprobaiion. 

These  sentiments  are  at  first  feeble,  easily  warped  by 
passions  and  prejudices,  and  apt  to  yield  to  authority. 
By  use  and  time,  the  judgment,  in  morals  as  in  other 
matters,  gathers  strength,  and  feels  more  vigour. 
We  begin  to  distinguish  the  dictates  of  passion  from 
those  of  cool  reason,  and  to  perceive,  that  it  is  not  al- 
ways safe  to  rely  upon  the  judgment  of  others.  By 
an  impulse  of  nature,  we  venture  to  judge  for  ourselves, 
as  we  venture  to  walk  by  ourselves. 

There  is  a  strong  analogy  between  the  progress  of 
the  body  from  infancy  to  maturity,  and  the  progress  of 
all  the  powers  of  the  mind.     This  progression  in  both 

VOL.   lY.  41 


31S  ESSAY   V. 

is  the  work  of  nature,  and  in  both  may  be  greatly  aid- 
ed or  hurt  by  proper  education.  It  is  naluial  \o  a  niaa 
to  be  able  to  walk,  or  run,  or  leap ;  but  if  his  liiubs  liad 
been  kept  in  fetters  from  his  birth,  he  would  have  none 
ofthose  powers.  It  is  no  less  natural  to  a  man  traiired 
in  society,  and  accustomed  to  judge  of  his  own  actions, 
and  t!»ose  of  other  men,  to  perceive  a  rigJif  and  a  wrong, 
an  honorable  and  a  base,  in  human  conduct ;  and  to 
such  a  man,  I  think,  the  principles  of  morals  I  have 
above  mentioned,  will  appear  self  evident.  Yet  there 
may  be  individuals  of  the  human  species  so  little  ac- 
customed to  think  or  judge  of  any  thing,  but  of  grati- 
fying their  animal  appetites,  as  to  have  hardly  any 
conception  of  right  or  wrong  in  conduct,  or  any  moral 
judgment;  as  there  certainly  are  some  \> ho  have  not 
the  conceptions  and  the  judgment  necessary  to  under- 
stand the  axioms  of  geometry. 

From  the  principles  above  mentioned,  the  whole  sys- 
tem of  moral  conduct  follows  so  easily,  and  with  so  lit- 
tle aid  of  reasoning,  that  every  man  of  common  under- 
standing, who  wishes  to  know  his  duly,  may  know  it. 
Tiie  paih  of  duty  is  a  plain  path,  which  the  u|iright  in 
heart  can  rarely  mistake.  Such  it  must  be,  since  every 
man  is  bound  to  walk  in  it.  There  are  some  intricate 
ca'ics  in  morals  which  admit  of  disputation;  but  these 
seldom  occur  in  practice;  and,  when  they  do,  the  learn- 
ed disputant  has  no  great  advantage  :  for  the  unlearn- 
ed man,  who  uses  the  best  means  in  his  power  to  know 
his  duty,  and  acts  according  to  liis  knowledge,  is  incul- 
pable in  the  sight  of  God  and  man.  He  may  err,  but 
he  is  not  guilty  of  immorality. 


OF  SYSTEMS  OF  MORALS.  319 

CHAP.  IT. 

OF    SYSTEMS    OF    MORALS. 

If  the  knowledge  of  our  duty  be  so  level  (o  the  ap- 
prehension of  all  men,  as  lias  been  represented  in  the 
last  tliapter,  it  may  seem  hardly  to  deserve  the  name 
of  a  science.  It  may  seem  that  there  is  no  need  for  in- 
struction in  morals. 

From  what  cause  then  has  it  happened,  that  Ave 
have  many  large  and  learned  systems  of  moral  philoso- 
phy, and  systems  of  natural  jurisprudence,  or  the  law 
of  nature  and  nations;  and  that,  in  modern  times,  pub- 
lic professions  have  been  instituted  in  most  places  of 
education  for  instructing  youth  in  these  branches  of 
knowledge? 

This  event,  I  think,  may  be  accounted  for,  and  the 
utility  of  such  systems  and  j)rofesbions  justified,  with- 
out supposing  any  difficulty  or  intricacy  in  the  knowl- 
edge of  our  duty. 

I  am  far  from  thinking  instruction  in  morals  unnec- 
essary. Men  may,  to  the  end  of  life,  be  ignorant  of 
self  evident  truths.  They  may,  to  the  end  of  life,  en- 
tertain gross  absurdities.  Experience  shows  that  this 
happens  often  in  matters  that  are  indifferent.  Much 
more  may  it  happen  in  matters  where  interest,  passion, 
prejudice,  and  fashion,  are  so  apt  to  pervert  the  judg- 
ment. 

The  most  obvious  truths  are  not  perceived  without 
some  ripeness  of  judgment.  For  we  see,  that  children 
may  be  made  to  believe  any  thing,  though  ever  so  ab- 
surd. Our  judgment  of  things  is  ripened,  not  by  time 
only,  but  chiefly  by  being  exercised  about  things  of  the 
same,  or  of  a  similar  kind. 

Judgment,  even  in  things  self  evident,  requires  a 
clear,  distinct,  and   steady  conception  of  the  things 


320  ESSAY    V. 

about  wbich  we  judge.  Our  conceptions  are  at  first 
obscure  and  wavering.  The  habit  of  attending  to 
(hem  is  necessary  to  make  them  distinct  and  steady; 
and  this  habit  requires  an  exertion  of  mind  to  which 
many  of  our  animal  principles  are  unfriendly.  The 
love  of  truth  calls  for  it;  but  its  still  voice  is  ofien 
drowned  by  the  louder  call  of  some  passion,  or  we  are 
hindered  from  listening  to  it  by  laziness  and  desultori- 
ncss.  Thus  men  often  remain  through  life  ignorant  of 
things  which  they  needed  but  to  open  their  eyes  to  see, 
and  which  they  would  have  seen  if  their  attention  had 
been  turned  to  them. 

The  most  knowing  derive  the  greatest  part  of  their 
knowledge,  even  in  things  obvious,  from  instruction 
and  information,  and  from  being  taught  to  exercise 
their  natural  faculties,  which,  without  instruction, 
would  lie  dormant. 

I  am  very  apt  to  think,  that,  if  a  man  could  be  rear- 
ed  from  infancy,  without  any  society  of  his  fellow  crea- 
tures, he  would  hardly  ever  show  any  sign,  either  of 
moral  judgment,  or  of  the  power  of  reasoning.  His 
own  actions  would  be  directed  by  his  animal  appetites 
and  passions,  without  cool  reflection,  and  he  would 
have  no  access  to  improve,  by  observing  the  conduct  of 
other  beings  like  himself. 

The  power  of  vegetation  in  the  seed  of  a  plant,  with- 
out he^t  and  moisture,  would  for  ever  lie  dormant. 
The  rational  and  moral  powers  of  man  would  perhaps 
lie  dormant  without  instruction  and  example.  Yet 
these  powers  are  a  part,  and  the  noblest  part  of  his 
constitution;  as  the  power  of  vegetation  is  of  the  seed. 
Our  first  moral  conceptions  are  probably  got  by  at- 
tending coolly  to  the  conduct  of  others,  and  observing 
what  moves  our  approbation,  what  our  indignation. 
These  sentiments  spring  from  our  moral  faculty  as  nat- 
urally as  the  sensations  of  sweet  and  bitter  from  the 


or   SYSTEMS    0¥   MORALS.  321 

facuhyof  taste.  They  have  their  naliiral  objects. 
But  most  human  actions  are  of  a  mixed  nature*  and 
have  various  colours,  according  as  they  are  viewed  on 
different  sides.  Prejudice  against,  or  in  favour  of  the 
person,  is  apt  to  warp  our  opinion.  It  requires  atten- 
tion and  candour  to  distinguish  the  good  from  the  ill, 
and,  vfithout  favour  or  prejudice,  to  form  a  clear  and 
impartial  judgment.  In  this  we  may  be  greatly  aided 
by  instruction. 

He  must  be  very  ignorant  of  human  nature,  who 
does  not  perceive  that  the  seed  of  virtue  in  the  mind  of 
man,  like  that  of  a  tender  plant  in  an  unkindly  soil,  re- 
quires care  and  culture  in  the  first  period  of  life,  as 
well  as  our  own  exertion  when  we  come  to  maturity. 

If  the  irregularities  of  passion  and  appetite  be  time- 
ly checked,  and  good  habits  planted  ;  if  we  be  excited 
by  good  examples,  and  bad  examples  be  shown  in  their 
proper  colour ;  if  the  attention  be  prudently  directed 
to  the  precepts  of  wisdom  and  virtue,  as  the  mind  is  ca- 
pable of  receiving  them ;  a  man  thus  trained  will  rare- 
ly be  at  a  loss  to  distinguish  good  from  ill  in  his  own 
conduct,  without  the  labour  of  reasoning. 

The  bulk  of  mankind  have  but  little  of  this  culture 
in  the  proper  season  ;  and  what  they  have  is  often  un- 
skilfully applied ;  by  which  means  bad  habits  gather 
strength,  and  false  notions  of  pleasure,  of  honor,  and 
of  interest,  occupy  the  mind.  They  give  little  atten- 
tion to  what  is  right  and  honest.  Conscience  is  seldom 
consulted,  and  so  little  exercised,  that  its  decisions  are 
weak  and  wavering.  Although,  therefore,  to  a  rip8 
understanding,  free  from  prejudice,  and  accustomed  to 
judge  of  the  morality  of  actions,  most  truths  in  morals 
will  appear  self-evident,  it  does  not  follow  that  moral 
instruction  is  unnecessary  in  the  first  part  of  life,  ot» 
that  it  may  not  be  very  profitable  in  its  more  advanced 
period. 


323  ESSAY    V. 

The  liislory  of  past  ages  shows,  that  na<ions,  highly 
civilized,  and  greatly  enlightened  in  many  arts  and 
sciences,  may.  lor  ages,  not  only  hold  the  grossest  ah- 
surdiiics  with  regard  to  the  Dtity  and  his  worship, 
but  with  regard  to  the  duty  we  owe  to  our  fellow-men, 
particularly  to  children,  to  servants,  to  strangers,  to 
enemies,  and  to  those  who  differ  from  us  in  religious 
opinions. 

Sucli  corruptions  in  religion,  and  in  morals,  had 
spread  so  wide  among  mankii.d,  and  were  so  conOrm- 
ed  by  custom,  as  to  require  a  light  from  heaven  to  cor- 
rect them.  Revelation  was  not  intended  to  supersede, 
but  to  aid  the  use  uf  our  natural  faculties  ;  and,  I  doubt 
not.  but  the  attention  given  to  moral  truths,  in  such 
systems  as  we  have  mentioned  has  contributed  much 
to  correct  the  errors  and  prejudices  of  former  ages, 
and  may  continue  to  have  the  same  good  effect  in  time 
to  eouie. 

It  needs  not  seem  strange,  that  systems  of  morals 
may  swell  to  great  magnitude,  if  we  consider  that,  al- 
though the  general  principles  be  few  and  simple,  their 
application  extends  to  every  part  of  human  conduct, 
in  every  condition,  every  relation,  and  every  transac- 
tion of  life.  They  are  the  rule  of  life  to  the  magistrate 
and  to  the  subject,  to  the  master  and  to  the  servant, 
to  the  parent  and  to  the  child,  to  the  fellow-citizen  and 
to  the  alien,  to  the  friend  and  to  the  enemy,  to  the  buyer 
and  to  the  seller,  to  the  borrower  and  to  the  lender. 
Everj  human  creature  is  subject  to  their  authority  in 
his  actions  and  words,  and  even  in  his  thoughts.  They 
iray,  in  this  respect,  be  compared  to  the  laws  of  mo- 
tion in  the  natural  world,  which,  though  few  and  sim- 
ple, serve  to  regulate  an  iniinite  variety  of  operations 
tlno\ighout  the  universe. 

Aiul  as  the  beautv  of  the  laws  of  motion  is  displaced 
in  the  most  striking  mauner,  vvhcD  we  trace  them 


OF   SYSTEMS    0¥   MORALS.  323 

through  all  the  variety  of  their  effects;  so  the  divine 
beaufy  and  sanctity  of  the  principles  of  morals,  appear 
most  august,  when  we  talie  a  cotoprehensive  view  of 
their  application  to  every  condition  and  relation,  and  to 
every  transaction  of  human  society. 

This  is,  or  ought  to  be,  the  design  of  systems  of 
morals.  They  may  be  made  more  or  less  extensive, 
having  no  limits  fixed  by  nature,  but  the  wide  circle  of 
human  transactions.  When  the  principles  are  applied 
to  these  in  detail,  the  detail  is  pleasant  and  prolitable. 
It  requires  no  profound  reasoning,  excepting,  perhaps, 
in  a  few  disputable  points.  It  admits  of  the  most 
agreeable  illustration  from  examples  and  authorities; 
it  serves  to  exercise,  and  thereby  to  strengthen  moral 
judgment.  And  one  who  has  given  much  attention  to 
the  duty  of  man.  in  all  the  various  relations  and  cir- 
cumstances of  life,  will  probably  be  more  enlightened 
in  his  own  duty,  and  more  able  to  enlighten  others. 

The  (irst  writers  in  morals,  we  are  acquainted  with, 
delivered  their  moral  instructions,  not  in  systems,  but 
in  short  unconnected  sentences,  or  aphorisms.  They 
saw  no  need  for  deductions  of  reasoning,  because  the 
truths  they  delivered  could  not  but  be  admitted  by  the 
candid  and  attentive. 

Subsequent  writers,  to  improve  the  way  of  treating 
this  subject,  gave  method  and  arrangement  to  moral 
truths,  by  reducing  them  under  certain  divisions  and 
subdivisions,  as  parts  of  one  whole.  By  this  means 
the  whole  is  more  easily  comprehended  and  remember- 
ed, and  from  this  arrangement  gets  the  name  of  a  sys- 
tem and  of  a  science. 

A  system  of  morals  is  not  like  a  system  of  geometry, 
where  the  subsequent  parts  derive  their  evidence  from 
the  preceding,  and  one  chain  of  reasoning  is  carried 
on  from  the  beginning ;  so  that,  if  the  arrangement  is 
changed,  the  chain  is  broken,  and  the  evidence  is  lost. 


32^  ESSAY   V. 

It  resembles  more  a  system  of  botany,  or  mineralogy, 
where  the  subsequent  parts  depend  not  for  their  evi- 
dence upon  the  preceding,  and  the  arrangement  is 
made  to  facilitate  apprehension  and  memory,  and  not 
to  give  evidence. 

Morals  have  been  methodised  in  different  ways. 
The  ancients  commonly  arranged  them  under  the  four 
cardinal  virtues  of  prudence,  temperance,  fortitude, 
and  justice.  Christian  writers,  I  think,  more  properly, 
under  the  three  heads  of  the  duty  we  owe  to  God,  to 
ourselves,  and  to  our  neighbour.  One  division  may  be 
more  comprehensive,  or  more  natural,  than  another  j 
but  the  truths  arranged  are  the  same,  and  their  evi- 
dence the  same  in  all. 

I  shall  only  further  observe,  with  regard  to  systems 
of  morals,  that  they  have  been  made  more  voluminous, 
and  more  intricate,  partly  by  mixing  political  questions 
with  morals,  which  I  think  improper,  because  they 
belong  to  a  different  science,  and  are  grounded  on  dif- 
ferent principles ;  partly  by  making  what  is  commonly, 
but  I  think  improperly,  called  the  Theory  of  MoralSf 
apart  of  the  system. 

By  the  theory  of  morals  is  meant,  a  just  account  of 
the  structure  of  our  moral  powers;  that  is,  of  those 
powers  of  the  mind  by  which  we  have  our  moral  con- 
ceptions, and  distinguish  right  from  wrong  in  human 
actions.  This,  indeed,  is  an  intricate  subject,  and 
there  have  been  various  theories  and  much  controversy 
about  it,  in  ancient  and  in  modern  times.  But  it  has 
little  connection  with  the  knowledge  of  our  duty;  and 
those  who  differ  most  in  the  theory  of  our  moral  pow- 
ers, agree  in  the  practical  rules  of  morals  which  they 
dictate. 

As  a  man  may  be  a  good  judge  of  colours,  and  of 
the  other  visible  qualities  of  objects,  without  any 
knowledge  of  the  anatomy  of  the  eye^  and  of  the  tlieory 


OF    SYSTEMS    OF   MORALS,  32S 

of  vision ;  so  a  man  may  have  a  very  clear  and  com- 
prehensive knowledge  of  what  is  right  and  what  is 
wrong  in  human  conduct,  who  never  studied  the  struc- 
ture of  our  moral  powers. 

A  good  ear  in  music  may  he  much  improved  by  at- 
tention and  practice  in  that  art ;  but  very  liule  by 
studying  the  anatomy  of  the  ear,  and  the  theory  of 
sound.  In  order  to  acquire  a  good  eye  or  a  good  ear 
in  the  arts  that  require  them,  the  theory  of  vision  and 
the  (heory  of  sound,  are  by  no  means  necessarj,  and  in- 
deed of  very  little  use.  Of  as  liUle  necessity  or  use 
is  what  we  call  the  theory  of  morals,  in  order  to  im- 
prove our  moral  judgment. 

I  mean  not  to  depreciate  this  branch  of  knowledge. 
It  is  a  very  important  part  of  the  philosophy  of  the 
human  mind,  and  ought  to  be  considered  as  such,  but 
not  as  any  part  of  morals.  By  the  name  we  give  to 
it,  and  by  the  custom  of  making  it  a  part  of  every  sys- 
tem of  morals,  men  may  be  led  into  this  gross  mistake, 
which  I  wish  to  obviate,  that  in  order  to  understand 
his  duty,  a  man  must  needs  be  a  philosopher  and  a  met- 
aphysician. 


VOL.  IV.  42 


326  ESSAY  V. 

CHAP.  III. 

or    SYSTEMS   OF   NATUEAl    JUllISPRCDENCE. 

Systems  of  nalural  jurisprudence,  of  the  rights  of 
peace  and  war,  or  of  the  law  of  nature  and  nations, 
are  a  modern  invention,  which  soon  acquired  such  rep- 
utation, as  gave  occasion  to  many  puhlie  estahlish- 
ments  for  teaching  it  along  with  the  other  sciences.  It 
has  so  close  a  relation  to  morals,  that  it  may  answer  the 
purpose,  of  a  system  of  morals,  and  is  commonly  put 
in  the  place  of  it,  as  far,  at  least,  as  concerns  our  duty 
to  our  fellow-men.  They  differ  in  the  name  and  form, 
hut  agree  in  substance.  This  will  appear  from  a  slight 
attention  to  the  nature  of  both. 

The  direct  intention  of  morals  is  to  teach  the  duty 
of  men :  that  of  natural  jurisprudence,  to  teach  the 
rights  of  men.  Right  and  duty  are  things  very  differ- 
ent, and  have  ev6n  a  kind  of  opposition  ,•  yet  they  arc 
so  related,  that  the  one  cannot  even  be  conceived  with- 
out the  other  ;  and  he  that  understands  the  one  must 
understand  the  other. 

They  have  the  same  relation  which  credit  has  to 
debt.  As  all  credit  supposes  an  equivalent  debt ;  so 
all  right  supposes  a  corresponding  duty.  There  can 
be  no  credit  in  one  party  without  an  equivalent  debt 
in  another  party  ;  and  there  can  be  no  right  in  one 
party,  without  a  corresponding  duty  in  another  party. 
The  sum  of  credit  shows  the  sum  of  debt ;  and  the 
sum  of  men's  rights  shows,  in  like  manner,  the  sum  of 
their  duty  to  one  another. 

The  word  right  has  a  very  different  meaning,  ac- 
cording as  it  is  applied  to  actions  or  to  persons.  A 
right  action  is  an  action  agreeable  to  our  duty.  But 
when  we  speak  of  the  rights  of  men,  the  word  has  a 
very  different  and  a  more  artificial  meaning.    It  is  a 


OF    SYSTEMS    OF   NATURAL    JURISPRUDENCE.     327 

lerin  of  art  in  law,  and  signifies  all  that  a  man  may 
lawfully  do,  all  that  he  may  lawfully  possess  and  use, 
and  all  that  he  may  lawfully  claim  of  any  other  person. 

This  comprehensive  meaning  of  the  word  right,  and 
of  the  Latin  word  Jus,  which  corresponds  to  it,  though 
long  adopted  into  common  language,  is  too  artificial 
to  he  the  bifth  of>_common  language.  It  is  a  term  of 
art,  contrived  by  Civilians  when  the  civil  law  became 
a  profession. 

The  whole  end  and  object  of  law  is  to  protect  the 
subjects  in  all  that  they  may  lawfully  do,  or  possess,  or 
demand.  This  threefold  object  of  law,  Civilians  have 
comprehended  under  the  word  jits,  or  r/^/it,  which  they 
defiae,  Facultas  aliquid  agendi,  vel  possidendi,  vel  ab 
alio  cbnsequendi :  A  lawful  claim  to  do  any  thing,  to 
possess  any  thing,  or  to  demand  some  prestation  from 
some  other  person.  The  first  of  these  may  be  called 
the  right  of  liberty,  the  second  that  of  property,  which 
is  also  called  a  real  right,  the  third  is  called  personal 
right,  because  it  respects  some  particular  person  or 
persons  of  whom  the  prestation  may  be  demanded. 

We  can  be  at  no  loss  to  perceive  the  duties  corres- 
ponding to  the  several  kinds  of  rights.  What  I  have 
a  right  to  do,  it  is  the  duty  of  all  men  not  to  hinder 
me  from  doing.  What  is  my  property  or  real  right, 
no  man  ought  to  take  from  me  ;  or  to  molest  me  in 
the  use  and  enjoyment  of  it.  And  what  I  have  a  right 
to  demand  of  any  man,  it  is  his  duty  to  perform.  Be- 
tween the  right,  on  the  one  hand,  and  the  duty  on  the 
other,  there  is  not  only  a  necessary  connection,  but,  in 
reality,  they  are  only  different  expressions  of  the  same 
meaning  ;  just  as  it  is  the  same  thing  to  say,  I  am  your 
debtor,  and  to  say,  you  are  my  creditor ;  or,  as  it  is  the 
same  thing  to  say,  I  am  your  father,  and  to  say,  yoij 
are  ray  son. 


S2S  ESSAY  ▼, 

Thus  we  see,  that  there  is  such  a  correspondeuce  be- 
tween the  rights  of  men  arid  the  duties  of  men,  that 
the  one  points  out  the  other;  and  a  system  of  the  one 
raay  be  substituted  for  a  system  of  the  other. 

But  here  an  objection  occurs.  It  may  be  said,  that 
although  every  riglit  implies  a  duty,  yet  every  duty 
does  not  imply  a  right.  Thus,  it  may  be  my  duty  to 
do  a  humane  or  kind  office  to  a  man  who  has  no  claim 
of  right  to  it ;  and  therefore  a  system  of  the  rights  of 
men,  though  it  (each  all  the  duties  of  strict  justice,  yet 
it  leaves  out  all  the  du(ies  of  charity  and  humanity, 
without  which  the  system  of  morals  must  be  very 
lame. 

In  answer  to  this  objection,  it  may  be  observed,  that, 
as  there  is  a  strict  notion  of  justice,  in  which  it  is 
distinguished  from  humanity  and  charity,  so  there 
is  a  more  extensive  signification  of  it,  in  which  it  in- 
cludes those  virtues.  The  ancient  moralists,  both 
Greek  and  Roman,  under  the  cardinal  virtue  of  justice, 
included  beneficence  ;  and,  in  this  extensive  sense,  it 
is  often  used  in  common  language.  The  like  may  be 
said  of  right,  which,  in  a  sense  not  uncommon,  is  ex- 
tended to  every  proper  claim  of  humanity  and  charity, 
as  well  as  to  the  claims  of  strict  justice.  But,  as  it  is 
proper  to  distinguish  these  two  kinds  of  claims  by  dif- 
ferent names,  writers  in  natural  jurisprudence  have 
given  the  name  of  perfect  rights  to  the  claims  of  strict 
justice,  and  that  of  imperfecl  rights  to  the  claims  of 
charity  and  humanity.  Thus,  all  the  duties  of  human- 
ity have  imperfect  rights  corresponding  to  them,  as 
those  of  strict  justice  have  perfect  rights. 

Another  objection  may  be,  that  there  is  still  a  class 
of  duties  to  which  no  right,  perfect  or  imperfect,  cor- 
responds. 

"We  are  bound  in  duty  to  pay  due  respect,  not  only 
to  what  is  truly  the  right  of  another,  but  to  what, 


OF    SYSTEMS   OF   NATURAL    JURISPRUDENCE.    329 

through  ignorance  or  mistake,  we  believe  to  be  his 
right.  Thus,  if  my  neighbour  is  possessed  of  a  horse 
which  he  stole,  and  to  which  he  has  no  right ;  while  I 
believe  the  horse  to  be  really  his,  and  am  ignorant  of 
the  theft,  it  is  my  duly  to  pay  the  same  respect  to  this 
conceived  right  as  if  it  were  real.  Here,  then,  is  a 
moral  obligation  on  one  party,  without  any  correspond- 
ing right  on  the  other. 

To  supply  this  defect  in  the  system  of  rights,  so  as 
to  make  right  and  duty  correspond  in  every  instance, 
writers  in  jurisprudence  have  had  recourse  to  some- 
thing like  what  is  called  a  fiction  of  law.  They  give 
the  name  of  right  to  the  claim  which  even  the  thief 
has  to  the  goods  he  has  stolen,,  \vhile  the  theft  is  un- 
known, and  to  all  similar  claims  grounded  on  the  ig-  ^ 
norance  or  mistake  of  the  parties  concerned.  And 
to  distinguish  this  kind  of  right  from  genuine  rights, 
perfect  or  imperfect,  they  call  it  an  external  right. 

Thus  it  appears,  that  although  a  system  of  the 
perfect  rights  of  men,  or  the  rights  of  strict  justice, 
would  be  a  lame  substitute  for  a  system  of  human 
duty  ;  yet  when  we  add  to  it  the  imperfect  and  the  ex- 
ternal rights,  it  comprehends  the  whole  duty  we  owe 
to  our  fellow  men. 

But  it  may  be  asked,  why  should  men  be  taught 
their  duty  in  this  indirect  way,  by  reflection,  as  it  were, 
from  the  rights  of  other  men  ? 

Perhaps  it  may  be  lliought,  that  this  indirect  way 
may  be  more  agreeable  to  the  pride  of  man.  as  we  see 
that  men  of  rank  like  better  to  hear  of  obligations  of 
honour  than  of  obligations  of  duty,  although  the  dic- 
tates of  true  honour  and  of  duty  be  the  same  ;  for  this 
reason,  that  honour  puts  a  man  in  mind  of  what  he  owes 
to  himself,  whereas  duty  is  a  more  humiliating  idea. 
For  a  like  reason,  men  may  attend  more  willingly  to 
their  rights,  which  put  them  in  mind  of  their  dignity. 


330  ESSAY  y. 

than  to  their  duties,  >vhich  suggest  their  dependence. 
And  we  see  that  men  may  give  great  attention  to  their 
rights  who  give  but  little  to  their  duty. 

Whatever  truth  there  may  be  in  this,  I  believe  bet- 
ter reasons  can  be  given  why  systems  of  natural  juris- 
prudence have  been  contrived  and  put  in  the  place  of 
systems  of  morals. 

Systems  of  civil  law  were  invented  many  ages  before 
we  had  any  system  of  natural  jurisprudence  ;  and  the 
former  seem  to  have  suggested  the  idea  of  the  latter. 

Such  is  the  weakness  of  human  understanding,  that 
no  large  body  of  knowledge  can  be  easily  apprehend- 
ed and  remembered,  unless  it  be  arranged  and  metho- 
dised, that  is,  reduced  into  a  system.  When  the  laws 
of  the  Roman  people  were  multiplied  to  a  great  de- 
gree, and  the  study  of  them  became  an  honorable  and 
lucrative  profession,  it  became  necessary  that  they 
should  be  methodised  into  a  system.  And  the  most 
natural  and  obvious  way  of  methodising  law  was  found 
to  be  according  to  the  divisions  and  subdivisions  of 
men's  rights,  which  it  is  the  intention  of  law  to  protect. 

The  study  of  law  produced  not  only  systems  of  law, 
but  a  language  proper  for  expressing  them.  Every 
art  has  its  terms  of  art,  for  expressing  the  conceptions 
that  belong  to  it ;  and  the  Civilian  must  have  terms 
for  expressing  accurately  the  divisions  and  subdivis- 
ions of  rights  and  the  various  ways  whereby  they  may 
be  acquired,  transferred,  or  extinguished,  in  the  various 
transactions  of  civil  society.  He  must  have  terms  ac- 
curately defined,  for  the  various  crimes  by  which  men's 
rights  are  violated,  not  to  speak  of  the  terms  which 
express  the  different  forms  of  actions  at  law,  and  the 
various  steps  of  the  procedure  of  judicatories. 

Those  who  have  been  bred  to  any  profession,  are 
very  prone  to  use  the  terms  of  tlieir  profession  in 


OF  SYSTEMS  OF  NATURAL  JURISPRUDENCE.      331 

speaking  or  writing  on  subjects  that  have  any  analogy 
to  it.  And  they  may  do  so  with  advantage,  as  terms 
of  art  arc  commonly  more  precise  in  their  significa- 
tion, and  better  defined,  than  the  words  of  common 
language*  To  such  persons  it  is  also  very  natural  to 
model  and  arrange  otiier  subjects,  as  far  as  their  na- 
ture admits,  into  a  method  similar  to  that  of  the  sys- 
tem which  fills  their  minds. 

It  might,  therefore,  be  expected,  that  a  Civilian,  in- 
tending to  give  a  detailed  system  of  morals,  would  use 
many  of  the  terms  of  civil  law,  and  mould  it,  as  far  as 
it  can  be  done,  into  the  form  of  a  system  of  law,  or  of 
the  rights  of  mankind. 

The  necessary  and  close  relation  of  right  to  duty, 
which  we  before  observed,  justified  this:  and  moral 
duty  had  long  been  considered  as  a  law  of  nature;  a 
law,  not  wrote  on  tables  of  stone  or  brass,  but  on  the 
heart  of  man  ^  a  law  of  greater  antiquity  and  higher 
authority  than  the  laws  of  particular  states ;  a  law 
which  is  binding  upon  all  men  of  all  nations,  and  there- 
fore is  called  by  Cicero  the  law  of  nature,  and  of  na- 
tions. 

The  idea  of  a  system  of  this  law  was  worthy  of  the 
genius  of  the  immortal  Hugo  Grotins,  and  he  was  the 
first  who  executed  it  in  such  a  manner,  as  to  draw  the 
attention  of  the  learned  in  all  the  European  nations ', 
and  to  give  occasion  to  several  princes  and  states  to  es- 
tablish public  professions  for  the  teaching  of  this  law. 

The  multitude  of  commentators  and  annotators  up- 
on this  work  of  Grotius,  and  the  public  establishments 
to  which  it  gave  occasion,  are  sufficient  vouchers  of  its 
jnerit. 

It  is,  indeed,  a  work  so  well  designed,  and  so  skilful- 
ly executed;  so  free  from  the  scholastic  jargon  whicli 
infected  the  learned  at  that  time,  so  mueii  addressed 
to  the  common  sense  and  moral  judgment  of  mankind^ 


332  ESSAY   V. 

and  so  agreeably  illustrated  by  examples  from  ancient 
hibtory,  and  audiorilies  from  the  sentiments  of  ancient 
authors,  heathen  and  christian,  that  it  must  always  be 
esteemed  as  the  capital  work  of  a  great  genius  upon  a 
most  important  subject. 

The  utility  of  a  just  system  of  natural  jurisprudence 
appears,  1st,  As  it  is  a  system  of  the  moral  duty  we 
owe  to  men,  which,  by  the  aid  they  have  taken  from 
the  terms  and  divisions  of  the  civil  law,  has  been  given 
more  in  detail  and  more  systematically  by  writers  in 
natural  jurisprudence  than  it  was  formerly.  2dly»  As 
it  is  the  best  preparation  for  the  study  of  law,  being,  as 
it  were,  cast  in  the  mould,  and  using  and  explaining  many 
of  the  terms  of  the  civil  law,  on  which  the  law  of  most  of 
the  European  nations  is  grounded.  3dly,  It  is  of  use  to 
lawgivers,  who  ought  to  make  their  laws  as  agreeable 
as  possible  to  the  laws  of  nature.  And  as  laws  made  by 
men,  like  all  human  works,  must  be  imperfect,  it  points 
out  the  errors  and  imperfections  of  human  laws. 
4thly,  Tojudges  and  interpreters  of  the  law  it  is  ofuse^ 
because  that  interpretation  ought  to  be  preferred  which 
is  founded  in  the  law  of  nature.  5thly,  It  is  of  use  ia 
civil  controversies  between  states,  or  between  individuals 
who  have  no  common  superior.  In  such  controversies^ 
the  appeal  must  be  made  to  the  law  of  nature  ;  and 
the  standard  systems  of  it,  particularly  that  of  Gro- 
tius,  have  great  authority.  And,  6thly,  to  say  no  more 
upon  this  point.  It  is  of  great  use  to  sovereigns  and 
states  who  are  above  all  human  laws,  to  be  solemnly 
admonished  of  the  conduct  they  are  bound  to  observe 
to  their  own  subjects,  to  the  subjects  of  other  states, 
and  to  one  another,  in  peace  and  in  war.  The  better 
and  the  more  generally  the  law  of  nature  is  understood, 
the  greater  dishonor,  in  public  estimation,  will  follow 
every  violation  of  it. 


OF    SYSTEMS   OF   NATURAL   JCRlsrRUDENCE.    333 

Some  authors  have  imagined,  that  systems  of  natu- 
ral jurisprudence  ought  to  he  confined  to  the  perfect 
rights  of  men,  because  the  duties  which  correspond  to 
the  imperfect  rights,  the  duties  of  charily  and  human- 
ity, cannot  be  enforced  by  human  laws,  but  must  be 
left  to  the  judgment  and  conscience  of  men,  free  from 
conjpulsion.  Butthesystemswhiehhavehadthe  great- 
est applause  of  the  public,  have  not  followed  this  plan, 
and  1  conceive,  for  good  reasons.  1st,  Because  a  sys- 
tem of  perfect  rights  could  by  no  means  serve  the  pur- 
pose of  a  system  of  morals,  which  surely  is  an  impor- 
tant purpose.  2dly,  Because,  in  many  cases,  it  is  hard- 
ly possible  to  fix  the  precise  limit  between  justice  and 
humanity,  between  perfect  and  imperfect  right.  Like 
the  colours  in  a  prismatic  image,  they  run  into  each 
other,  so  that  the  best  eye  cannot  fix  the  precise  boun- 
dary between  them.  Sdly,  As  wise  legislators  and 
magistrates  ought  to  have  it  as  their  end  to  make  the 
citizens  good,  as  well  as  just,  we  find  in  all  civilized 
nations,  laws  that  are  intended  to  encourage  the  du- 
ties of  humanity.  Where  human  laws  cannot  enforce 
them  by  punishments,  they  may  encourage  them  by  re- 
wards. Of  this  the  wisest  legislators  have  given  ex- 
amples ;  and  how  far  this  branch  of  legislation  may 
be  carried,  no  man  can  foresee. 

The  substance  of  the  four  following  chapters,  was 
"wrote  long  ago,  and  read  in  a  literary  society,  with  a 
view  to  justify  some  points  of  morals  from  metaphysi- 
cal objections  urged  against  them  in  the  writings  of 
David  Hume,  Esq.  If  they  answer  that  end,  and,  at 
the  same  time,  serve  to  illustrate  the  account  I  have 
given  of  our  moral  powers,  it  is  hoped  that  the  reader 
•will  not  think  them  improperly  placed  here ;  and  that 
he  will  forgive  some  repetitions,  and  perhaps  anachro- 
nisms, occasioned  by  their  being  wrote  at  different 
times,  and  on  different  occasions. 

vol.  IV.  i3 


"J^*  ESSAY   V, 


CHAP.  IV. 

AVHETHER    AN    ACTION    DESERVING    MORAL    APPROBATIOK, 

MUST    BE    DONE    WITH    THE     BELIEF     OF    ITS    BEING 

MORALLY  GOOD. 

There  is  no  part  of  philosophy  more  subtile  and  in- 
tricate than  that  which  is  called  the  Theory  of  Mor- 
als. Nor  is  there  any  more  plain  and  level  to  the  ap- 
prehension of  man  than  the  practical  part  of  morals. 

In  the  former,  the  Epicurean,  the  Peripatetic  and 
the  Stoic,  had  each  his  different  system  of  old ;  and 
almost  every  modern  author  of  reputation  has  a  sys- 
tem of  his  own.  At  the  same  time,  there  is  no  branch 
of  human  knowledge  in  which  there  is  so  general  an 
agreement  among  ancients  and  moderns,  learned  and 
unlearned,  as  in  the  practical  rules  of  morals. 

From  this  discord  in  the  theory,  and  harmony  in  the 
practical  part,  we  may  judge,  that  the  rules  of  morali- 
ty stand  upon  another  and  a  firmer  foundation  than  the 
theory.     And  of  this  it  is  easy  to  perceive  the  reason. 

For  in  order  to  know  what  is  right  and  what  is 
wrong  in  human  conduct,  we  need  only  listen  to  the 
dictates  of  our  conscience,  when  the  mind  is  calm  and 
unruffled,  or  attend  to  the  judgment  we  form  of  others 
in  like  circumstances.  But,  to  judge  of  the  various 
theories  of  morals,  we  must  be  able  to  analyze  and  dis- 
sect, as  it  were,  the  active  powers  of  the  human  mind, 
and  especially  to  analyze  accurately  that  conscience  or 
moral  power,  by  which  we  discern  right  from  wrong. 

The  conscience  may  be  compared  to  the  eye  in  this 
as  in  many  other  respects.  The  learned  and  the  un- 
learned see  objects  with  equal  distinctness.  The  form- 
er have  no  title  to  dictate  to  the  latter,  as  far  as  the 
eye  is  judge,  nor  is  there  any  disagreement  about  such 


OBJECT   OF   MOHAL   APPROBATION.  335 

matters.  But,  to  dissect  the  eye,  and  to  explain  the 
theorj  of  vision,  is  a  difficult  point,  wherein  the  most 
skilful  have  differed. 

From  this  remarkable  disparity  between  our  decis- 
ions in  the  theory  of  morals  and  in  the  rules  of  moral- 
ity, we  may,  I  think,  draw  this  conclusion,  that  where- 
ever  we  find  any  disagreement  between  the  practical 
rules  of  morality,  which  have  been  received  in  all  ages, 
and  the  principles  of  any  of  the  theories  advanced  upon 
this  subject,  the  practical  rules  ought  to  be  the  stand- 
ard by  which  the  theory  is  to  be  corrected  ,*  and  that 
it  is  both  unsafe  and  unphilosophical  to  warp  the  prac- 
tical vules,  in  order  to  make  them  tally  with  a  favour- 
ite theory. 

The  question  to  be  considered  in  this  chapter  be- 
longs to  the  practical  part  of  morals,  and  therefore  is 
capable  of  a  more  easy  and  more  certain  determination. 
And,  if  it  be  determined  in  the  affirmative,  I  conceive 
that  it  may  serve  as  a  touchstone  to  try  some  celebrat- 
ed theories  which  are  inconsistent  with  that  determi- 
nation, and  which  have  led  the  theorists  to  oppose  it 
by  very  subtile  metaphysical  arguments. 

Every  question  about  what  is  or  is  not  the  proper  ob- 
ject of  moral  approbation,  belongs  to  practical  morals, 
and  such  is  the  question  now  under  consideration  : 
Whether  actions  deserving  moral  approbation  must  be 
done  with  the  belief  of  their  being  morally  good  ?  Or, 
Whether  an  action,  done  without  any  regard  to  duty  or 
to  the  dictates  of  conscience,  can  be  entitled  to  moral 
approbation  ? 

In  every  action  of  a  moral  agent,  his  conscience  is 
either  altogether  silent,  or  it  pronounces  the  action  to 
be  good,  or  bad,  or  indifferent.  This,  I  think,  is  a 
complete  enumeration.  If  it  be  perfectly  silent,  the 
action  must  be  very  trifling,  or  appear  so.  For  con- 
science, in  those  who  have  exercised  it,  is  a  very  prag- 


o36  ESSAY   V. 

inatical  faculty,  and  meddles  with  every'  part  ot'our  con- 
duct, whether  wc  desire  its  counsel  or  not.  And  what 
u  man  does  in  perfect  simplicity,  without  the  least 
suspicion  of  its  heing  bad,  his  heart  cannot  condemn 
him  for,  nor  will  he  that  knows  the  heart  condemn 
him.  If  there  was  any  previous  culpable  neglij^ence 
or  inattention  which  led  him  to  a  wrong  judgment,  or 
hindered  his  forming  a  right  one,  that  I  do  not  excul- 
pate. I  only  consider  the  action  done,  and  the  disposi- 
tion with  which  it  was  done,  without  its  previous  cir- 
cumstances. And  in  this  there  appears  nothing  that 
merits  disapprobation.  As  little  can  it  merit  any  de- 
gree of  moral  approbation,  because  there  was  neither 
good  nor  ill  intended.  And  the  same  may  be  said  when 
conscience  pronounces  the  action  to  be  indifferent. 

If,  in  the  second  place,  I  do  what  my  conscience 
pronounces  to  be  bad,  or  dubious,  I  am  guilty  to  my- 
self, and  justly  deserve  the  disapprobation  of  others* 
Nor  am  I  less  guilty  in  this  case,  though  what  I  judg- 
ed to  be  bad,  should  happen  to  be  good  or  indifferent. 
I  did  it  believing  it  to  be  bad,  and  this  is  an  immorality. 

Laslbj,  If  1  do  wiiat  my  conscience  pronounces  to  be 
right  and  ray  duty,  either  I  have  some  regard  to  duty, 
or  I  have  nope.  The  last  is  not  supposable ;  for  I  be- 
lieve there  is  no  man  so  abandoned,  but  that  he  does 
what  he  believes  to  be  his  duty,  with  more  assurance 
and  alacrity  upon  that  account.  The  more  weight  the 
rectitude  of  the  action  has  in  determining  me  to  do  it, 
the  more  I  approve  of  my  own  conduct.  And  if  my 
worldly  interest,  my  appetites,  or  inclinations,  draw  mo 
strongly  the  contrary  way,  my  following  the  dictates 
of  my  conscience,  in  opposition  to  these  motives,  adds 
to  the  moral  worth  of  the  action. 

When  a  man  acts  from  an  erroneous  judgment,  if 
his  error  be  invincible,  all  agree  that  he  is  inculpable  : 
but  if  his  error  be  owing  to  some  previous  negligence 


OBJECT  OF    MOEAL   APPROBATION.  337 

or  inattention,  there  seems  to  be  some  diiferenee  among 
moralists.  This  difference,  however,  is  only  seeming, 
and  not  real.  For  wherein  lies  the  fault  in  this  case?  It 
must  be  granted  by  all,  that  the  fault  lies  in  this,  and  solely 
in  this,  that  he  was  not  at  due  pains  to  have  his  judgment 
well  informed.  Those  moralists,  therefore,  who  consid- 
er the  action  and  the  previous  conduct  that  led  to  it  as 
one  whole,  find  something  to  blame  in  the  whole  ;  and 
they  do  so  most  justly.  But  those  who  take  this  whole 
to  pieces,  and  consider  what  is  blameable  and  what  is 
right  in  each  part,  find  all  that  is  blameable  in  what 
preceded  this  wrong  judgment,  and  nothing  but  what  is 
approveable  in  what  followed  it. 

Let  us  suppose,  for  instance,  that  a  man  believes 
that  God  has  indispensably  required  him  to  observe  a 
very  rigorous  fast  in  Lent ;  and  that,  from  a  regard  to 
this  supposed  Divine  command,  he  fasts  in  such  man- 
ner as  is  not  only  a  great  mortification  to  his  appetite, 
but  even  hurtful  to  his  health. 

,  His  superstitious  opinion  may  be  the  effect  of  a  cul- 
pable negligence,  for  which  he  can  by  no  means  be 
justified.  Let  him,  therefore,  bear  all  the  blame  upon 
this  account  that  he  deserves.  But  now,  having  this 
opinion  fixed  in  his  mind,  shall  he  act  according  to  it 
or  against  it  ?  Surely  we  cannot  hesitate  a  moment  in 
this  case.  It  is  evident,  that  in  following  the  light  of 
Lis  judgment,  he  acts  the  part  of  a  good  and  pious 
man,  whereas,  in  acting  contrary  to  his  judgment,  he 
would  be  guilty  of  wilful  disobedience  to  his  Maker, 

If  my  servant,  by  mistaking  my  orders,  does  the 
contrary  of  what  I  commanded,  believing,  at  the  same 
time,  that  he  obeys  my  orders,  there  may  be  some 
fault  in  his  mistake,  but  to  charge  him  with  the  crime 
of  disobedience,  would  be  inhuman  and  unjust. 

These  determinations  appear  to  me  to  have  intuitive 
evidence,  no  less  than  that  of  mathematical  axioms. 


338  ESSAY   y. 

A  man  who  is  come  to  years  of  understanding,  and  who 
has  exercised  his  faculties  in  judging  of  right  and 
wrong,  sees  their  truth  as  he  sees  day-light.  Meta- 
physical arguments  brought  against  them  have  the 
same  effect  as  when  brought  against  the  evidence  of 
sense :  they  may  puzzle  and  confound,  but  they  do 
not  convince.  It  appears  evident,  therefore,  that  those 
actions  only  can  truly  be  called  virtuous,  or  deserving 
of  moral  approbation,  which  the  agent  believed  to  be 
right,  and  to  which  he  was  influenced,  more  or  less,  by 
that  belief. 

If  it  should  be  objected,  that  this  principle  makes  it 
to  be  of  no  consequence  to  a  man*s  morals,  what  his 
opinions  may  be,  providing  he  acts  agreeably  to  them, 
the  answer  is  easy. 

Morality  requires,  not  only  that  a  man  should  act 
according  to  his  judgment,  but  that  he  should  use  the 
best  means  in  his  power  that  his  judgment  be  accord- 
ing to  truth.  If  he  fail  in  either  of  these  points,  he  is 
worthy  of  blame;  but,  if  he  fail  in  neither,  I  sec  not 
wherein  he  can  be  blamed. 

When  a  man  must  act,  and  has  no  longer  time  to  de- 
liberate, he  ought  to  act  according  to  the  light  of  his  con- 
science, even  when  he  is  an  error.  But,  when  he  has 
time  to  deliberate,  he  ought  surely  to  use  all  the  means 
in  his  power  to  be  rightly  informed.  When  he  has  done 
so,  he  may  still  be  in  an  error;  but  it  is  an  invincible 
error,  and  cannot  justly  be  imputed  to  him  as  a 
fault. 

A  second  objection  is,  that  we  immediately  approve 
of  benevolence,  gratitude,  and  other  primary  virtues, 
without  inquiring  whether  they  are  practised  from  a 
persuasion  that  ihey  are  our  duty.  And  the  laws  of 
God  place  the  sum  of  virtue  in  loving  God  and  our  neigh- 
bour, without  any  provision  that  we  do  it  from  a  persua- 
sion that  we  ought  to  do  so. 


OBJECT   OF   MOEAIi    APPROBATION.  339 

The  answer  to  this  objection  is,  that  the  love  of  God, 
the  love  of  our  neighboui*,  justice,  gratitude,  and  other 
primary  virtues,  are,  by  the  constitution  of  human  na- 
ture, necessarily  accompanied  with  a  conviction  of 
their  being  morally  good.  We  may  therefore  safely 
presume,  that  these  things  are  never  disjoined,  and  that 
every  man  who  pratises  these  virtues  does  it  with  a 
good  conscience.  In  judging  of  men's  conduct,  we  do 
not  suppose  things  which  cannot  happen,  nor  do  the 
laws  of  God  give  decisions  upon  impossible  cases,  as 
they  must  have  done,  if  they  supposed  the  case  of  a 
man  who  thought  it  contrary  to  his  duty  to  love  God 
or  to  love  mankind. 

But  if  we  wish  to  know  how  the  laws  of  God  deter- 
mine the  point  in  question,  we  ought  to  observe  their 
decision  with  regard  to  such  actions  as  may  appear 
good  to  one  man  and  ill  to  another.  And  here  the  de- 
cisions of  scripture  are  clear  :  Let  everij  man  be  persuad- 
ed in  his  own  mind.  He  that  doubtetk  is  condemned 
if  he  eat,  because  he  eatelh  not  of  faith ;  for  whatsoever 
is  not  of  faith  is  sin.  To  him  that  esteemeth  any  thing 
to  be  uncleaUf  it  is  unclean.  The  scripture  often  places 
the  sum  of  virtue  in  living  in  all  good  conscience,  in  act- 
ing so  tha,t  our  hearts  condemn  us  not. 

The  last  objection  I  shall  mention  is  a  metaphysical 
one  urged  by  Mr  Hume. 

It  is  a  favourite  point  in  his  system  of  morals,  that 
justice  is  not  a  natural  but  an  artificial  virtue.    To 
prove  this,  he  has  exerted  the  whole  strength  of  his 
reason  and  eloquence.     And  as  the  principle  we  are 
considering  stood  in  his  way,  he  takes  pains  to  refute  it. 
"  Suppose,"  says  he,  "  a  person  to  have  lent  me  a 
sum  of  money,  on  condition  that  it  be  restored  in  a  few 
days.     After  the  expiration  of  the  term  he  demands 
the  sum.     I  ask,  what  reason  or  motive  have  I  to  re- 
store the  money  ?  It  will  perhaps  be  said,  that  my  re- 


340  ESSAY   V. 

gard  to  justice,  and  abhorrence  of  villainy  and  knav- 
ery, are  sufficient  reasons  for  me."  And  this,  he  ac- 
knowledajes,  would  be  a  satisfactory  answer  to  a  man 
in  a  civilized  state,  and  when  trained  up  according  lo  a 
certain  discipline  and  education.  ♦»  But  in  his  rude  and 
more  natural  condition,"  says  he,  <♦  if  you  are  pleased  to 
call  such  a  condition  naturaK  this  answer  would  be  re- 
jected as  perfectly  unintelligible  and  sophistical." 

*»  For  wherein  consists  this  honesty  and  justice?  Not 
surely  in  the  external  action.  It  must  therefore  con- 
sist in  the  motive  from  which  the  external  action  is  de- 
rived. This  motive  can  never  be  a  regard  to  the  hon- 
esty of  the  action.  For  it  is  a  plain  fallacy  to  say, 
that  a  virtuous  motive  is  requisite  to  render  an  action 
honest,  and,  at  the  same  time,  that  a  regard  to  the  hon- 
esty is  the  motive  to  the  action.  We  can  never  have 
a  regard  to  the  virtue  of  an  action,  unless  the  action 
be  antecedently  virtuous." 

And,  in  another  place,  "  to  suppose  that  the  mere 
regard  to  the  virtue  of  the  action  is  that  which  render- 
ed it  virtuous,  is  to  reason  in  a  circle.  An  action 
must  be  virtuous,  before  we  can  have  a  regard  to  its 
virtue.  Some  virtuous  motive,  therefore,  must  be  an- 
tecedent to  that  regard.  Nor  is  this  merely  a  meta- 
physical subtilty,"  &c.  Treatise  of  Hum.  Nature, 
book  5.  part  2.  sect.  1. 

I  am  not  to  consider  at  this  time,  how  this  reasoning 
is  applied  to  support  the  author's  opinion,  that  justice 
is  not  a  natural,  but  an  artificial  virtue.  I  consider  it 
only  as  far  as  it  opposes  the  principle  I  have  been  en- 
deavouring to  establish,  that,  to  render  an  action  truly 
virtuous,  the  agent  must  have  some  regard  to  its  recti- 
tude. And  I  conceive  the  whole  force  of  the  reasoning 
amounts  to  this  : 

When  we  judge  an  action  to  be  good  or  bad,  it  must 
have  been  so  in  its  own  mature  antecedent  to  that  judg- 


OBJECT    or    MORAL   APPROBATION.  3ii 

iiient,  otherwise  the  judgment  is  erroneous.  If,  there- 
fore, the  action  be  good  in  its  nature,  the  judgment  of 
the  agent  cannot  make  it  bad,  nor  can  his  judgment 
make  it  good,  if,  in  its  nature,  it  be  bad.  For  this 
would  be  to  ascribe  to  our  judgment  a  strange  magical 
power  to  transform  the  nature  of  things,  and  to  say, 
that  my  judging  a  thing  to  be  what  it  is  not,  makes  it 
really  to  be  what  I  erroneously  judge  it  to  be.  This? 
I  think,  is  the  objection  in  its  full  strength.  And,  in 
answer  to  it, 

1st,  If  we  could  not  loose  this  metaphysical  knot, 
I  think  we  might  fairly  and  honestly  cut  it,  because  it 
fixes  an  absurdity  upon  the  clearest  and  most  indisput- 
able  principles  of  morals  and  of  common  sense.  For 
I  appeal  to  any  man  whether  there  be  any  principle  of 
morality,  or  any  principle  of  common  sense,  more  clear 
and  indisputable  than  that  which  we  just  now  quoted 
from  the  Apostle  Paul,  that  although  a  thing  be  not 
unclean  in  itself,  yet  to  him  that  esteemeth  it  to  be  un- 
clean, to  him  it  is  unclean.  But  the  metaphysical  ar- 
gument makes  this  absurd.  For,  says  the  metaphysi- 
cian, if  the  thing  was  not  unclean  in  itself,  you  judged 
MTong  in  esteeming  it  to  be  unclean ;  and  what  can  be 
more  absurd,  than  that  your  esteeming  a  thing  toH)e 
what  it  is  not,  should  make  it  what  you  erroneously  es- 
teem it  to  be  ? 

Let  us  try  the  edge  of  this  argument  in  another  in- 
stance. Nothing  is  more  evident,  than  that  an  action 
does  not  merit  the  name  of  benerolent,  unless  it  be 
done  from  a  belief  that  it  tends  to  promote  the  good 
of  our  neighbour.  But  this  is  absurd,  says  the  meta- 
physician. For,  if  it  be  not  a  benevolent  action  in  it- 
self, your  belief  of  its  tendency  cannot  change  its  na- 
ture. It  is  absurd,  that  your,  erroneous  belief  should 
make  the  action  to  be  what  you  believe  it  to  be.  Noth- 
ing is  more  evident,  than  that  a  man  who  tells  the 

VOL.   IV.  *4 


343 


JiSSAY    V. 


ti'uHi,  believing  it  to  be  a  lie,   is  guilly  of  falseliood; 
buf  the  meraphysician  would  make  this  to  be  absurd. 

In  a  word,  if  (here  be  any  strength  in  this  argument, 
it  would  follow,  that  a  man  might  be  in  the  highest  de- 
gree virtuous,  wirhout  the  least  regard  to  virlue;  (hat 
be  might  be  ver^  benevolent,  without  ever  intending 
to  do  a  good  office ;  yevy  malicious,  without  ever  in- 
tending any  hurt  j  very  revengeful,  without  ever  in- 
tending to  retaliate  an  injury ;  very  grateful,  without 
ever  intending  to  return  a  benefit ;  and  a  man  of  strict 
veracity,  with  an  intention  to  lie.  We  might,  there- 
fore, reject  this  reasoning,  as  repugnant  to  self  evident 
truths,  though  we  were  not  able  to  point  out  the  falla- 
cy of  it. 

2dly,  But  let  us  ivy,  in  the  second  place,  whether 
the  fallacy  of  this  argument  may  not  be  discovered. 

We  ascribe  moral  goodness  to  actions  considered  ab- 
stractly, without  any  relation  to  the  agent.  We  like- 
wise ascribe  moral  goodness  to  an  agent  on  account  of 
an  action  he  has  doue  ;  we  call  it  a  good  action,  though, 
in  this  ease,  the  goodness  is  properly  in  the  man,  and 
is  only  by  a  figure  ascribed  to  the  action.  Now,  it  is 
to  be  considered,  whether  moral  goodness,  when  applied 
to  an  action  considered  abstractly,  has  the  same  mean- 
ing as  when  we  apply  it  to  a  man  on  account  of  that 
action ;  or  whether  we  do  not  unawares  change  the 
meaning  of  the  word,  according  as  we  apply  it  to  the 
one  or  to  the  other. 

The  action,  considered  abstractly,  has  neither  under- 
standing nor  will  ,*  it  is  not  accountable,  nor  can  it  be 
under  any  moral  obligation.  But  all  these  things  are 
essential  to  that  moral  goodness  which  belongs  to  a 
ntan  ;  for,  if  a  man  had  not  understanding  and  will,  he 
could  have  no  moral  goodness.  Hence  it  follows  nec- 
essarily, that  the  moral  goodness  which  we  ascribe  to 
an  action  considered  abstractly,  and  that  which  we  as- 


OBJECT  OF  MORAL  APPROBATION.       3*3 

eribe  to  a  person  for  doing  that  action,  are  not  the 
same.  The  meaning  of  the  word  is  changed  when  it 
is  applied  to  (hese  different  subjects. 

This  will  be  more  evident,  w!ien  we  consider  what 
is  meant  by  the  moral  goodness  which  we  ascribe  to  a 
man  for  doing  an  action,  and  wlial  by  the  goodness 
which  belongs  to  the  aciion  considered  abstractly.  A 
good  action  in  a  man  is  that  in  which  he  applied  his 
intellectual  powers  properly,  in  order  to  judge  what  lie 
ought  to  do,  and  acted  accoiding  to  his  best  judgment. 
This  is  all  that  can  be  required  of  a  moral  agent ;  and 
in  this  his  moral  goodness,  in  any  good  action,  consists. 
But  is  this  the  goodness  which  we  ascribe  to  an  action 
considered  abstractly?  No,  surely.  For  the  action, 
considered  abstractly,  is  neither  endowed  with  judg- 
ment nor  with  active  power;  and,  therefore,  can  have 
none  of  that  goodness  which  we  ascribe  to  the  man  for 
doing  it. 

But  what  do  we  mean  by  goodness  in  an  action  con- 
sidered abstractly?  To  me  it  appears  to  lie  in  this,  and 
and  in  this  only,  that  it  is  an  action  whicli-ought  to  be 
done  by  those  who  have  the  power  and  opportunity, 
and  the  capacity  of  perceiving  their  obligation  to  do  it. 
I  would  gladly  know  of  any  man,  what  other  moral 
goodness  can  be  in  an  action  considered  abstractly.  And 
this  goodness  is  inherent  in  its  nature,  and  inseparable 
from  it.  No  opinion  or  judgment  of  an  agent  can  in  the 
least  alter  its  nature. 

Suppose  the  action  to  be  that  of  relieving  an  innocent 
person  out  of  great  distress.  This  surely  has  the  moral 
goodness  that  an  action  considered  abstractly  can  have. 
Yet  it  is  evident,  that  an  agent,  in  relieving  a  person  in 
distress,  may  have  no  moral  goodness,  may  have  great 
merit,  or  may  have  great  demerit. 

Suppose,  1st,  that  mice  cut  the  cords  which  bound 
the  distressed  person,  and  so  bring  him  relief.  Is  thorc 
moral  goodness  in  this  act  of  the  mice  ? 


ri'i 


ESSAY    V. 


Suppose,  2(llj',  that  a  man  maliciously  relieves  the 
distressed  person,  in  order  to  plunge  him  into  greater 
distress.  In  this  aetion  there  is  surely  no  moral  good- 
ness, but  much  malice  and  inhumanity. 

If,  in  the  last  place,  we  suppose  a  person,  from  real 
sympathy  and  humanity,  to  bring  relief  to  the  distress- 
ed person,  with  considerable  expense  or  danger  to  him- 
self; here  is  an  action  of  real  worth,  which  every 
heart  approves  and  every  tongue  praises.  But  wherein 
lies  the  worth  ?  Not  in  the  action  considered  by  itself, 
which  was  common  to  all  the  three,  but  in  the  man  who, 
on  this  occasion,  acted  the  part  which  became  a  good 
man.  He  did  what  his  heart  approved,  and  therefore 
he  is  approved  by  God  and  man. 

Upon  the  whole,  if  we  distinguish  between  that  good- 
ness which  may  be  ascribed  to  an  action  considered  by 
itself,  and  that  goodness  which  we  ascribe  to  a  man 
when  he  puts  it  in  execution,  we  shall  find  a  key  to 
this  metaphysical  lock.  We  admit,  that  the  goodness 
of  an  aetion,  considered  abstractly,  can  have  no  depend- 
ence upon  the  opinion  or  belief  of  an  agent,  any  more 
than  the  truth  of  a  proposition  depends  upon  our  be- 
lieving it  to  be  true.  But,  when  a  man  exerts  his  active 
power  well  or  ill,  there  is  a  moral  goodness  or  turpi- 
tude, which  we  figuratively  impute  to  the  action,  but 
which  is  truly  and  properly  imputable  to  the  man  only  j 
and  this  goodness  or  turpitude  depends  very  much  upon 
the  intention  of  the  agent,  and  the  opinion  he  had  of 
his  action. 

This  distinction  has  been  understood  in  all  ages  by 
those  who  gave  any  attention  to  morals,  though  it  has 
been  variously  expressed.  The  Greek  moralists  gave 
the  name  of  yuc^^Kov  to  an  action  good  in  itself  j  such 
an  action  might  be  done  by  the  most  worthless.  But 
an  action  done  with  a  right  intention,  which  implies 
real  worth  in  the  agent,  they  called  -MT'o^B-wf^oi*    The 


OBJECT   or   MORAL   APPROBATION*.  3i5 

distinction  is  explained  bj  Cioero  in  his  offices.  He 
calls  the  first  officium  medium,  and  the  second  ojflcium 
^erfecttim,  op  rectum.  In  the  scholastic  ages,  an  action 
good  in  itself  was  said  to  be  materially  good,  and  an 
action  done  with  a  right  intention  was  called yorma% 
good.  This  last  way  of  expressing  the  distinction  is 
still  familiar  among  theologians  ;  but  Mr.  Hume  seems 
not  to  have  attended  to  it,  or  to  have  thought  it  to  be 
words  without  any  meaning. 

Mr.  Hume,  in  the  section  already  quoted,  tells  us  with 
great  assurance,  "  In  short,  it  may  be  established  as 
an  undoubted  maxim,  that  no  action  can  be  virtuous 
or  morally  good,  unless  there  be  in  human  nature 
some  motive  to  produce  it  distinct  from  the  sense  of 
its  morality."  And  upon  this  maxim  he  founds  many 
of  his  reasonings  on  the  subject  of  morals. 

Whether  it  be  consistent  with  Mr.  Hume's  own  sys- 
tem, that  an  action  may  be  produced  merely  from  the 
sense  of  its  morality,  without  any  motive  of  agreeable- 
ness  or  utility,  I  shall  not  now  inquire.  But,  if  it  be 
true,  and  I  think  it  evident  to  every  man  of  common 
understanding,  that  a  judge  or  an  arbiter  acts  the 
most  virtuous  part  when  his  sentence  is  produced  by 
no  other  motive  but  a  regard  to  justice  and  a  good 
conscience;  nay,  when  all  other  motives  distinct  from 
this  are  on  the  other  side  :  if  this,  I  say,  be  true, 
then  that  undoubted  maxim  of  Mr.  Hume  must  be 
false,  and  all  the  conclusions  built  upon  it  must  fall  to 
the  ground. 

From  the  principle  I  have  endeavoured  to  establish, 
1  think  some  consequences  may  be  drawn  with  regard 
to  the  theory  of  morals. 

First,  If  there  be  no  virtue  without  the  belief  that 
what  we  do  is  right,  it  follows,  that  a  moral  faculty,  that 
is,  a  power  of  discerning  moral  goodness  and  turpitude 
in  human  conduct,  is  essential  to  every  being  capable 


346  ESSAY   V. 

of  virtue  or  vice.  A  being  who  lias  no  more  concep- 
tion of  moral  goodness  and  baseness,  of  right  and  wrong, 
than  a  blind  man  has  of  colours,  can  have  no  regard 
to  it  in  his  conduct,  and  therefore  can  neither  be  vir- 
tuous nor  vicious. 

He  may  have  qualities  that  are  agreeable  or  disa- 
greeable, useful  or  hurtful,  so  may  a  plant  or  a  ma- 
chine. And  we  sometimes  use  the  word  virtue  in  such 
a  latitude,  as  to  signify  any  agreeable  or  useful  quali- 
ty, as  when  we  speak  of  the  virtues  of  plants.  But  we 
are  now  speaking  of  virtue  in  the  strict  and  proper 
sense,  as  it  signifies  that  quality  in  a  man  which  is  the 
object  of  moral  approbation. 

This  virtue  a  man  could  not  have,  if  he  had  not  a 
power  of  discerning  a  right  and  a  wrong  in  human  con» 
duct,  and  of  being  influenced  by  that  discernment. 
For  in  so  far  only  he  is  virtuous  as  he  is  guided  in  his 
conduct  by  that  part  of  his  constitution.  Brutes  do 
not  appear  to  have  any  such  power,  and  therefore  are 
not  moral  or  accountable  agents.  They  are  capable 
of  culture  and  discipline,  but  not  of  virtuous  or  criminal 
conduct.  Even  human  creatures,  in  infancy  and  non- 
age, are  not  moral  agents,  because  their  moral  faculty 
is  not  yet  unfolded.  These  sentiments  are  supported 
by  the  common  sense  of  mankind,  which  has  always 
determined,  that  neither  brutes  nor  infants  can  be  in- 
dicted for  crimes. 

It  is  of  small  consequence  what  name  we  give  to  this 
moral  power  of  the  human  mind  ;  but  it  is  so  import- 
ant a  part  of  our  constitution,  as  to  deserve  an  ap- 
propriated name.  The  name  of  conscience,  as  it  is  the 
most  common,  seems  to  me  as  proper  as  any  that  has 
been  given  it.  I  find  no  fault  with  the  name  moral 
sense,  although  I  conceive  this  name  has  given  occasion 
to  some  mistakes  concerning  the  nature  of  our  moral 
power.    Modern  philosophers  have  conceived  of  the 


OBJECT   OF   MORAL   APPROBATION.  347 

external  senses  as  having  no  other  office  but  to  give 
us  certain  sensations,  or  simple  conceptions,  which  we 
could  not  have  without  them.  And  this  notion  has 
been  applied  to  the  moral  sense.  But  it  seems  to  me  a 
mistaken  notion  in  both.  B^v  the  sense  of  seeing,  I  not 
only  have  the  conception  of  the  different  colours,  but  I 
perceive  one  bod^'  to  be  of  this  colour,  another  of  that. 
In  like  manner,  by  my  moral  sense,  I  not  only  have  the 
conceptions  of  right  and  wrong  in  conduct,  but  I  per- 
ceive this  conduct  to  be  right,  that  to  be  wrong,  and 
that  indifierent.  All  our  senses  are  judging  faculties, 
so  also  is  conscience.  Nor  is  this  power  only  a  judge 
of  our  own  actions  and  those  of  others,  it  is  likewise 
a  principle  of  action  in  all  good  men  ;  and  so  far  only 
can  our  conduct  be  denominated  virtuous,  as  it  is  in- 
fluenced by  this  principle. 

A  second  consequence  from  the  principle  laid  dowti 
in  this  chapter  is,  that  the  formal  nature  and  essence 
of  that  virtue  which  is  the  object  of  moral  approba- 
tion, consists  neither  in  a  prudent  prosecution  of  our 
private  interest,  nor  in  benevolent  affections  toward 
others,  nor  in  qualities  useful  or  agreeable  to  ourselves 
or  to  others,  nor  in  sympathizing  with  the  passions  and 
affections  of  others,  and  in  attuning  our  own  conduct  to 
the  tone  of  other  men's  passions  ;  but  it  consists  in  living 
in  all  good  conscience,  that  is,  in  using  the  best  means 
in  our  power  to  know  ourduty,  and  acting  accordingly. 

Prudence  is  a  virtue,  benevolence  is  a  virtue,  forti. 
tude  is  a  virtue  ;  but  the  essence  and  formal  nature  of 
virtue  must  lie  in  something  that  is  common  to  all 
these,  and  to  every  other  virtue.  And  this  I  conceive 
can  be  nothing  else  but  the  rectitude  of  such  conduct, 
and  turpitude  of  the  contrary,  which  is  discerned  by  a 
good  man.  And  so  far  only  he  is  virtuous  as  he  pur- 
sues the  former;  and  avoids  the  latter. 


S4S  ESSAY    V. 


CHAP.  V. 

WHETHER    JUSTICE    BE    A     NATURAL    OR    AN     ARTIFICIAL 
VIRTUE. 

Mr.  Hume's  philosophy  concerning  morals  was  first 
presented  to  the  world  in  the  third  volume  of  his  Trea- 
tise of  Human  Nature,  in  the  year  1740 ;  afterward, 
in  his  Enquiry  Concerning  the  Principles  of  Morals, 
which  was  first  published  by  itself,  and  then  in  several 
editions  of  his  Essays  and  Treatises. 

In  these  two  works  on  morals,  the  system  is  the 
same.  A  more  popular  arrangement,  great  embellish- 
ment, and  the  omission  of  some  metaphysical  reason- 
ings, have  given  a  preference  in  the  public  esteem  to 
the  last :  but  I  find  neither  any  new  principles  In  it,  nor 
any  new  arguments  in  support  of  the  system  common  to 
both. 

In  this  system,  the  proper  object  of  moral  approba- 
tion is  not  actions  or  any  voluntary  exertion,  but  qual- 
ities of  mind ;  that  this,  natural  afiections  or  passions, 
which  are  involuntary,  a  part  of  the  constitution  of  the 
man,  and  common  to  us  with  many  brute  animals. 
When  we  praise  or  blame  any  voluntary  action,  it  is 
only  considered  as  a  sign  of  the  natural  affection  from 
which  it  flows,  and  from  which  all  its  merit  or  demerit 
is  derived. 

Moral  approbation  or  disapprobation  is  not  an  act  of 
the  judgment,  which,  like  all  acts  of  judgment,  must 
be  true  or  false,  it  is  only  a  certain  feeling,  which,  from 
the  constitution  of  human  nature,  arises  upon  contem- 
plating certain  characters  or  qualities  of  mind  coolly 
and  impartially. 

This  feeling,  when  agreeable,  is  moral  approbation ; 
when  disagreeable,  disapprobation.    The  qualities  of 


OV  JUSTICE.  349 

mind  which  produce  this  agreeable  feeling  are  the  mor- 
al virtues,  and  those  that  produce  the  disagreeable, 
the  vices. 

These  preliminaries  being  granted,  the  question 
about  the  foundation  of  morals  is  reduced  to  a  simple 
question  of  fact,  ris;.  What  are  the  qualities  of  mind 
Mhich  produce,  in  the  disinterested  observer^  the  feel- 
ing of  approbation,  or  the  contrary  feeling? 

In  answer  to  this  question,  the  author  endeavours  to 
prove,  hy  a  very  copious  indiiciion,  that  all  personal 
merit,  all  virtue,  ail  that  is  the  object  of  moral  appro- 
bation, consists  in  the  qualities  of  mind  which  are 
agreeable  or  useful  to  the  person  who  possesses  them,  or 
to  others. 

The  dulce  and  the  utile  is  the  whole  sum  of  merit 
in  every  character,  in  every  quality  of  mind,  and  in 
every  action  of  life.  There  is  no  room  left  for  that 
honeslum  which  Cicero  thus  defines,  Honestum  igitur 
id  intelUgimuSf  quod  tale  est,  ut  detracta  omni  utilitatef 
sine  ullis  'premiis  fructibusve,  per  se  ipsum  possitjure 
landari. 

Among  the  ancient  moralists,  the  Epicureans  were 
the  only  sect  who  denied  that  there  is  any  such  thing 
as  honestum^  or  moral  worth,  distinct  from  pleasure. 
In  this  Mr.  Hume's  system  agrees  with  theirs.  For 
the  addition  of  ufillly  to  pleasure,  as  a  foundation  of 
morals,  makes  only  a  verbal,  but  no  real  difference. 
"What  is  useful  only  has  no  value  in  itself,  but  derives 
all  its  merit  from  the  end  for  which  it  is  u&eful.  That 
end,  in  this  system,  is  agreeableness  or  pleasure.  So 
that,  in  both  systcm-s,  pleasure  is  (he  only  end,  the  on- 
ly thing  that  is  good  in  itself,  and  desirable  for  its  own 
sake ;  and  virtue  derives  all  its  merit  from  its  tenden- 
cy to  produce  pleasure. 

Agreeableness  and  utility  are  not  moral  concep- 
tions, nor  have  they  any  connection  with  morality. 

vol.  IV.  45 


350  ESSAT   V. 

What  a  man  does,  merely  because  it  is  agreeable,  ov 
useful  to  procure  what  is  agreeable,  is  not  virtue. 
Therefore  the  Epicurean  system  was  justly  thought  by 
Cicero,  and  the  best  moralists  among  the  ancients,  to 
subvert  morality,  and  to  substitute  another  principle 
in  i(s  room  ;  and  this  system  is  liable  to  the  same  cen- 
sure. 

In  one  thing,  however,  it  differs  remarkably  from 
that  of  Epicurus.  It  allows,  that  there  are  disinterested 
affections  in  human  nature;  that  the  love  of  children 
and  relations,  friendship,  gratitude,  compassion  and 
humanity,  are  not,  as  Epicurus  maintained,  different 
modifications  of  self  love,  but  simple  and  original  parts 
of  the  human  constitution  ;  that  when  interest,  or  envy, 
or  revenge,  pervert  not  our  disposition,  we  are  inclined, 
from  natural  philanthropy,  to  desire,  and  to  be  pleased 
with  the  happiness  of  the  human  kind. 

All  this,  in  opposition  to  the  Epicurean  system, 
Mr.  Hume  maintains  with  great  strengtli  of  reason  and 
eloquence,  arid,  in  this  respect,  his  system  is  more  lib- 
eral and  disinterested  than  that  of  the  Greek  philoso- 
pher. According  to  Epicurus,  virtue  is  v/hatever  is 
agreeable  to  ourselves.  According  to  Mr.  Hume, 
every  quality  of  mind  that  is  agreeable  or  useful  to 
ourselves  or  to  others. 

This  theory  of  the  nature  of  virtue,  it  must  be  ac- 
knowledged, enlarges  greatly  the  catalogue  of  moral  vir- 
tues, by  bringing  into  that  catalogue  every  quality  of 
mind  that  is  useful  or  agreeable.  Nor  does  there 
appear  any  good  reason  why  the  useful  and  agreea- 
ble qualities  of  body  and  of  fortune,  as  well  as 
those  of  the  mind,  should  not  have  a  place  among 
moral  virtues  in  this  system.  They  have  the  essence 
of  virtue  ;  that  is,  agreeableness  and  utility,  why  then 
should  they  not  have  the  name  ? 

But,  to  compensate  this  addition  to  the  moral   vir- 
tues, one  class  of  them  seems  to  be  greatly  degraded 


or  JUSTICE.  351 

and  deprived  of  all  intrinsic  merit.  Tlie  useful  virtues, 
as  was  above  observed,  are  only  ministering  servants 
of  the  agreeable,  and  purveyors  for  them  ;  they  must 
therefore,  be  so  far  inferior  in  dignity,  as  hardly  to  de- 
serve the  same  name. 

Mr.  Hume,  however,  gives  the  name  of  virtue  to 
both  ;  and  to  distinguish  them,  calls  the  agreeable  qual- 
ities, natural  virtues,  and  the  useful,  artificial. 

The  natural  virtues  are  those  natural  affections  of 
the  human  constitution  which  give  immediate  pleas- 
ure in  their  exercise.  Such  are  all  the  benevolent  af- 
fections Nature  disposes  to  them,  and  from  their 
own  nature  they  are  agreeable,  both  when  we  exercise 
them  ourselves,  and  when  we  contemplate  their  exer- 
cise in  others. 

The  artificial  virtues  are  such  as  are  esteemed  sole- 
ly on  account  of  their  utility,  either  to  promote  the 
good  of  society,  as  justice,  fidelity,  honor,  veracity, 
allegiance,  chastity ;  or  on  account  of  their  utility  to 
the  possessor,  as  industry,  discretion,  frugality,  secre- 
sy,  order,  perseverance,  forethought,  judgment,  and 
others,  of  which,  he  says,  many  pages  could  not  con- 
tain the  catalogue. 

This  general  view  of  Mr  Hume's  system  concerning 
the  foundation  of  morals,  seemed  necessary,  in  order 
to  understand  distinctly  the  meaning  of  that  principle 
of  his,  which  is  to  be  the  subject  of  this  chapter,  and 
on  which  he  has  bestowed  much  labour;  to  wit,  that 
justice  is  not  a  natural,  but  an  artificial  virtue. 

This  system  of  the  foundation  of  virtue  is  so  con- 
tradictory in  many  of  its  essential  points  to  the  ac- 
count we  have  before  given  of  the  active  powers  of 
human  nature,  that,  if  the  one  be  true,  the  other  must 
be  false. 

If  God  has  given  to  man  a  power  which  we  call  con- 
science, the  moral  facultij'f  the  sense  of  duly,  by  which 5 


352  ESSAY   V. 

when  he  comes  to  jears  of  understanding,  lie  perceives 
certain  things  that  depend  on  his  will  to  he  his  duty, 
and  other  things  to  he  hase  and  unwor.'hy  ;  if  the  no- 
tion of  duty  he  a  simple  conception,  of  its  own  kind, 
and  of  a  different  nature  from  the  conceptions  of  utility 
and  agreeahleness,  of  interest  or  reputation;  if  this 
moral  faculty  he  the  prerogative  of  man,  and  no  vestige 
of  it  he  found  in  hrute  animals  ;  if  ii  he  given  us  hy 
God  to  regulate  all  our  animal  affections  and  passions  ; 
if  to  he  governed  hy  it  he  the  glory  of  man  and  the 
image  of  God  in  his  soul,  and  to  disregard  its  dictates 
be  his  dishonor  and  <Iepravity  :  I  say,  if  these  things 
be  so.  to  seek  the  foundation  of  morality  in  the  affec- 
tions which  we  have  in  common  with  the  brutes,  is  to 
seek  the  living  among  the  dead,  and  to  change  the  glo- 
ry of  man,  and  the  image  of  God  in  his  soul,  into  the 
similitude  of  an  ox  that  eateth  grass. 

If  virtjie  and  vice  he  a  matter  of  choice,  they  must 
consist  in  voluntary  actions,  or  in  fixed  purposes  of  act- 
ing according  to  a  certain  rule  when  there  is  oppor- 
tunity, and  not  in  qualities  of  mind  which  are  involun- 
tary. 

It  is  true,  that  every  virtue  is  both  agreeable  and 
useful  in  the  highest  degree;  and  that  every  quality 
that  is  agreeahle  or  useful,  has  a  merit  upon  that 
account.  But  virtue  has  a  merit  peculiar  to  itself, 
a  merit  whieh  does  not  arise  from  its  being  useful  or 
agreeahle,  hut  from  its  being  virtue.  This  merit  is 
discerned  by  the  same  faculty  by  which  we  discern  it  to 
be  virtue,  and  by  no  other. 

"We  give  the  name  of  esteem  both  to  the  regard  we 
have  for  things  useful  and  agreeable,  and  to  the  regard 
we  have  for  virtue ;  but  these  are  different  kinds  of  es- 
teem. I  esteem  a  man  for  his  ingenuity  and  learning. 
I  esteem  him  for  his  aioral  >Yorth.    The  sound  of  es- 


OF  JUSTICE.  353 

teem  in  both  these  speeches  is  the  same,  but  its  mean- 
ing is  very  different. 

Good  breeding  is  a  very  amiable  quality ;  and  even 
if  I  knew  that  the  man  had  no  motive  to  it  but  its 
pleasure  and  utility  to  himself  and  others,  I  should  like 
it  still,  but  I  would  not  in  that  case  call  it  a  moral  vir- 
tue. 

A  dog  has  a  tender  concern  for  her  puppies ;  so  has  a 
man  for  his  children.  The  natural  affeclion  is  the 
same  in  both,  and  is  amiable  in  both.  But  why  do  we 
impute  moral  virtue  to  the  man  on  account  of  this  con- 
cern, and  not  to  the  dog  ?  The  reason  surely  is,  that  in 
the  man,  the  natural  affection  is  accompanied  with  a 
sense  of  duty,  but,  in  the  dog,  if  is  not.  The  same  thing 
may  be  said  of  all  the  kind  affections  common  to  us 
with  the  brutes.  They  are  amiable  qualities,  but  they 
are  not  moral  virtues.    . 

What  has  been  said  relates  to  Mr.  Hume's  system 
in  general.  We  are  now  to  consider  his  notion  of  the 
particular  virtue  of  justice,  that  its  merit  consists  whol- 
ly in  its  utility  to  society. 

That  justice  is  highly  useful  and  necessary  in  socie- 
ty, and.  on  that  account,  ought  to  be  loved  and  esteem- 
ed by  all  that  love  mankind,  will  readily  be  granted. 
And  as  justice  is  a  social  virtue,  it  is  true  also,  that  there 
could  be  no  exercise  of  it,  and  perhaps  we  should  have 
no  conception  of  it,  witiiout  society.  But  this  is  equal- 
ly true  of  the  natural  affections  of  benevolence,  grati- 
tude, friendship,  and  compassion,  ^vliicli  Mr.  Hume 
makes  to  be  the  natural  vii'tues. 

It  may  be  granted  to  Mr.  Hume,  that  men  have  no 
conception  of  the  virtue  of  justice  till  they  have  lived 
some  time  in  society.  It  is  purely  a  moral  conception, 
and  our  moral  conceptions  and  moral  judgments  are 
not  born  with  us.  They  grow  up  by  degrees,  as  our 
reason  does.    Nor  do  I  pretend  to  know  how  early,  or 


354*  ESSAY     Y. 

in  what  ordei*,  we  acquire  Oie  conception  of  the  several 
virtues.  The  conception  of  justice  supposes,  some  ex- 
ercise of  the  moral  faculty,  which,  being  the  noblest 
part  of  the  human  constitution,  and  that  to  which  all  its 
other  parts  are  subservient,  appears  latest. 

It  may  likewise  be  granted,  that  there  is  no  animal 
affection  in  human  nature  that  prompts  us  immediately 
to  acts  of  justice,  as  such.  We  have  natural  affections 
of  the  animal  kind,  which  immediately  prompt  us  to 
acts  of  kindness ;  but  none,  that  I  know,  that  has  the 
same  relation  to  justice.  The  very  conception  of  jus- 
tice supposes  a  moral  faculty ;  but  our  natural  kind 
affections  do  not  j  otherwise  we  must  allow  that  brutes 
have  this  faculty. 

What  I  maintain  is,  1st,  that  when  men  come  to 
the  exercise  of  their  moral  faculty,  they  perceive  a 
turpitude  in  injustice,  as  they  do  in  other  crimes,  and 
consequently  an  obligation  to  justice,  abstracting  from 
the  consideration  of  its  utility.  And,  2dly,  that  as 
soon  as  men  have  any  rational  conception  of  a  favour, 
and  of  an  injury,  they  must  have  the  conception 
of  justice,  and  perceive  its  obligation  distinct  from  its 
utility. 

The  first  of  these  points  hardly  admits  of  any  other 
proof,  but  an  appeal  to  the  sentiments  of  every  honest 
man,  and  every  man  of  honor,  whether  his  indigna- 
tion is  not  immediately  inflamed  against  an  atrocious 
act  of  villany,  without  the  cool  consideration  of  its 
distant  consequences  upon  the  good  of  society  ? 

We  might  appeal  even  to  robbers  and  pirates,  wheth- 
er they  have  not  had  great  struggles  with  their  con- 
science, when  they  first  resolved  to  break  through  all 
the  rules  of  justice?  And  whether,  in  a  solitary  and 
serious  hour,  they  have  not  frequently  felt  the  pangs 
of  guilt?  They  have  very  often  confessed  this  at  a  time 
when  all  disguise  is  laid  aside. 


OF   JUSTICE. 


355 


The  common  good  of  society,  ILougli  a  pleasing  ob- 
ject to  all  men,  when  presented  to  their  view,  hardly 
ever  enters  into  the  thoughts  of  the  far  greatest  part 
of  mankind  ;  and,  if  a  regard  to  it  were  the  sole  motive 
to  justice,  the  number  of  honest  men  must  be  small 
indeed.  It  would  be  confined  to  the  higher  ranks,  who, 
by  their  education,  or  by  their  office,  are  led  to  make 
the  public  good  an  object ;  but  that  it  is  so  confined,  I 
believe  no  man  will  venture  to  aiSrm. 

The  temptations  to  injustice  are  strongest  in  tbe 
lowest  class  of  men  ;  and  if  nature  had  provided  no 
motive  to  oppose  those  temptations,  but  a  sense  of 
public  good,  there  would  not  be  found  an  honest  man 
in  that  class. 

To  all  men  that  are  not  greatly  corrupted,  injustice, 
as  well  as  cruelty  and  ingratitude,  is  an  object  of  dis- 
approbation on  its  own  account.  There  is  a  voice  with- 
in us  that  proclaims  it  to  be  base,  unworthy,  and  deserv- 
ing of  punishment. 

That  there  is,  in  all  ingenuous  natures,  an  antipa- 
thy to  roguery  and  treachery,  a  reluctance  to  the 
thoughts  of  villany  and  baseness,  we  have  the  testimony 
of  Mr.  Hume  himself;  who,  as  I  doubt  not  but  he  felt  it, 
has  expressed  it  very  strongly  in  the  conclusion  to  his 
Enquiry,  and  acknowledged  that,  in  some  cases,  with- 
out this  reluctance  and  antipathy  to  dishonesty,  a  sensi- 
ble knave  would  find  no  sufficient  motive  from  public 
good  to  be  honest. 

I  shall  give  the  passage  at  large  from  the  Enquiry 
concerning  the  Principles  of  Morals,  sect.  9,  near  the 
end. 

**  Treating  vice  with  the  greatest  candour,  and  mak- 
ing it  all  possible  concessions,  we  must  acknowledge 
that  there  is  not,  iu  any  instance,  the  smallest  pretext 
for  giving  it  the  preference  above  virtue,  with  a  view 
to  s«lf-interest ;  exicept,  perhaps,  in  the  case  of  justice, 


356  asssAT    v. 

where  a  man,  taking  (hings,  in  a  certain  liglit,  may 
often  seem  to  be  a  loser  b^y  bis  integrity.  And  though 
it  is  allowed  that,  without  a  regaid  to  property,  no 
society  could  subsist  :  jet,  according  to  the  imperfect 
way  in  which  human  affairs  are  conducted,  a  sensible 
knave,  in  particular  incidents,  may  think,  that  an  act 
of  iniquity  or  infidelity  will  make  a  considerable  addition 
to  his  fortune,  without  causing  any  considerable  breach 
in  the  social  union  and  confederacy.  That  honesty  is  the 
hest  policy,  may  be  a  good  general  rule,  but  it  is  liable 
to  many  exceptions  :  and  he,  it  may  perhaps  be  thought* 
conducts  himself  with  most  wisdom,  who  observes  the 
general  rule,  and  takes  advantage  of  all  the  exceptions. 

'♦  I  must  confess  that,  if  a  man  think  that  this 
reasoning  requires  an  answer,  it  will  be  a  little 
difficult  to  ilnd  any  which  will  to  him  appear  satisfac- 
tory and  convincing.  If  his  heart  rebel  not  against 
such  pernicious  maxims,  if  he  feel  no  reluctance  to  the 
thoughts  of  villany  and  baseness,  he  has  indeed  lost 
a  considerable  motive  to  virtue,  and  we  may  expect 
that  his  practice  will  be  answerable  to  his  speculation. 
But  in  all  ingenuous  natures,  the  antipathy  to  treach- 
ery and  roguery  is  too  strong  to  be.  counterbalanced 
by  any  views  of  profit  or  pecuniary  advantage.  Inward 
peace  of  mind,  consciousness  of  integrity,  a  satisfactory 
review  of  our  own  conduct ;  these  are  circumstances 
very  requisite  to  happiness,  and  will  be  cherished  and 
cultivated  by  every  honest  man  who  feels  the  impor- 
tance of  them." 

The  reasoning  of  tlie  sensihJe  hnave  in  this  passage, 
seems  to  me  to  be  justly  founded  upon  the  principles 
of  the  Enquiry  and  of  the  Treatise  of  Human  Nature, 
and  therefore  it  is  no  wonder,  that  the  author  should 
find  it  a  little  difficult  to  give  any  answer  which  would 
appear  satisfactory  and  convincing  to  such  a  man.  To 
counterbalance  this  reasoning,  he  puts  in  the  other 


OF   JUSTICE. 


557 


scale  a  reluotance,  an  antipathy,  a  rebellion  of  the 
heart  against  sucli  pernicious  cmxims,  which  is  ielt  by 
ingenuous  natures. 

Let  us  consider  a  little  tlie  force  of  Mr.  Hume's 
answer  to  this  sensible  knave,  who  reasons  upon  his 
own  principles.  I  think  it  is  eitlier  an  acknowledg- 
ment, that  there  is  a  natural  judgment  of  conscience 
in  man,  that  injustice  and  treachery  is  a  base  and  un- 
worthy practice,  which  is  the  point  I  would  establish  ; 
or  it  has  no  force  to  convince  either  the  knave  or  an 
honest  man. 

A  clear  and  intuitive  judgment,  resulting  from  the 
constitution  of  human  nature,  is  sufficient  to  overbal- 
ance a  train  of  subtile  reasoning  on  the  other  side. 
Thus,  the  testimony  of  our  senses  is  sufficient  to  over- 
balance all  the  subtile  arguments  brought  against  their 
testimony.  And,  if  there  be  a  like  testimony  of  con 
science  in  favour  of  honesty,  all  the  subtile  reasoning 
of  the  knave  against  it  ought  to  be  rejected  without 
examination,  as  fallacious  and  sophistical,  because  it 
concludes  against  a  self-evident  principle  ;  just  as  we 
reject  the  subtile  reasoning  of  the  metaphysician  against 
the  evidence  of  sense. 

If,  therefore,  the  reluctance^  the  antipathyf  the  re- 
hellion  of  the  heart  against  injustice,  which  Mr.  Hume 
sets  against  the  reasoning  of  the  knave,  include  in 
their  meaning  a  natural  intuitive  judgment  of  con- 
science, that  injustice  is  base  and  unworthy,  the  rea- 
soning of  the  knave  is  convincingly  answered  ;  but  the 
principle.  That  justice  is  an  artijicial  TirtuCf  approved 
solely  for  its  utility,  is  given  up. 

If,  on  the  other  hand,  the  antipathy,  reluctance,  and 
rebellion  of  heart,  imply  no  judgment,  but  barely  an 
uneasy  feeling,  and  that  not  natural,  but  acquired  and 
artificial,  the  answer  is  indeed  very  agreeable  to  the 
principles  of  the  Enquiry^hut  has  no  force  to  convince 
the  knave,  or  any  other  man. 
vot  IV.  46 


358  ESSAY    V. 

The  knave  is  liei-e  supposed  by  Mr.  Hume  to  have  no 
such  feelings,  and  Iheretbre  the  answer  does  not  touch 
his  ease  in  the  least,  hut  leaves  him  in  the  full  posses- 
sion of  his  reasoning.  And  ingenuous  natures,  who 
have  these  feelings,  are  left  to  deliberate  whether  they 
•will  ^ield  to  acquired  and  artiHcial  feelings,  in  opposi. 
tion  to  rules  of  conduct,  which^  to  their  hest  judgment, 
appear  wise  and  prudent. 

The  second  thing  I  proposed  to  show  was,  that,  as 
soon  as  men  have  any  rational  conception  of  a  favour 
and  of  an  injury,  they  must  have  the  conception  of 
justice,  and  perceive  its  obligadon. 

The  power  with  which  the  Author  of  nature  has 
endowed  us,  may  he  employed  either  to  do  good  to  our 
fellow-men,  or  to  hurt  them.  AVhen  we  employ  our 
power  to  promote  the  good  and  happiness  of  others, 
this  is  a  benefit  or  favour  ;  when  we  employ  it  to  hurt 
them,  it  is  an  injury.  Justice  Oils  up  the  middle  be- 
tween these  two.  It  is  sucli  a  conduct  r.»  does  no  in- 
jury to  others;  but  it  does  not  imply  the  doing  them 
any  favour. 

The  notions  of  h,  favour  and  of  an  injury,  appear  as 
early  in  the  mind  of  man  as  any  rational  notion  what- 
ever. They  are  discovered,  not  by  language  only, 
hut  by  certain  aiTeclions  of  miml,  of  which  they  are 
the  natural  objects.  A  favour  naturally  produces 
gratitude.  An  injury  done  to  ourselves  produces  re- 
sentment ;  and  even  when  done  to  another,  it  produces 
indignation. 

I  take  it  for  granted  that  gratitude  and  resentment 
are  no  less  natural  to  the  human  mind  than  hunger  and 
thirst;  and  that  those  affections  are  no  less  naturally 
excited  by  their  proper  objects  and  occasions  than  these 
appetites. 

It  is  no  less  evident,  that  the  proper  and  formal 
object  of  gratitude  is  a  person   who  has  done   us  a 


OF  JUSTICE.  359 

favour;  that  of  resentment,  a  person  who  lias  done  us 
an  injury. 

Before  the  use  of  reason,  the  distinction  between  a 
favour  and  an  agreeable  office  is  not  perceived. 

Every  action  of  another  person  which  gives  present 
pleasure  produces  love  and  good  will  toward  the  agent. 
Every  action  that  gives  pain  or  uneasiness  produces 
resentment.  This  is  common  to  nmn  before  the  use  of 
reason,  and  to  the  more  sagacious  brutes;  and  it  shows 
no  conception  of  justice  in  either. 

But.  as  we  grow  up  to  the  use  of  reason,  the  notion, 
both  of  a  faVour  and  of  an  injury,  grows  more  distinct 
and  better  defined.  It  is  not  enough  tliat  a  good  office 
be  done ;  it  must  be  done  from  good  will,  and  with  a 
good  intention,  otherwise  it  is  no  favour,  nor  does  it 
produce  gratitude. 

I  have  heard  of  a  physician  who  gave  spiders  in  a 
medicine  to  a  dropsical  patient,  with  an  intention  to 
poison  him,  and  that  this  medicine  cured  the  patient 
contrary  to  the  intention  of  the  physician.  Surely  no 
gratitutle.  but  resentment,  was  due  by  the  patient, 
when  he  knew  the  real  state  of  the  case.  It  is  evident 
to  every  man,  that  a  benefit  arising  from  the  action  of 
another,  either  without  or  against  his  intention,  is  not 
a  motive  to  gratitude  ;  that  is,  no  favour. 

Another  thing  implied  in  the  nature  of  a  favour  is, 
that  it  be  not  due.  A  man  may  save  my  credit  by  pay- 
ing what  he  owes  me.  In  this  case,  what  he  does  tends 
to  my  benefit,  and  perhaps  is  done  with  that  intention  ; 
but  it  is  not  a  favour,  it  is  no  more  than  he  was  bound 
to  do. 

If  a  servant  do  his  work,  and  receive  his  wages,  there 
is  no  favour  done  on  either  part,  nor  any  object  of 
gratitude  ;  because,  though  each  party  has  benefited 
the  other,  yet  neither  has  done  more  than  he  was  bound 
to  do. 


3C0  USSAY    V. 

"What  I  infer  IVom  tliis  is,  that  (he  conception  of  a 
fuvour  in  every  man  come  to  years  of  understanding, 
implies  the  conception  of  things  not  due,  and  consequent- 
ly the  conception  of  things  that  arc  due. 

A  negative  cannot  be  conceived  by  one  who  has  no 
conception  of  the  correspondent  positive.  Not  to  be 
due  is  the  negative  of  being  due  ;  and  he  who  con- 
ceives one  of  them  must  conceive  both.  The  concep- 
tion of  things  due  and  not  due  must  therefore  be  found 
in  every  mind  which  has  any  rational  conception  of  a 
favour,  or  any  rational  sentiment  of  gratitude. 

If  we  consider,  on  the  other  hand,  what  an  injury  is 
vhich  is  the  object  of  the  natural  passion  of  resent- 
ment, every  man,  capable  of  reflection,  perceives,  that  an 
injury  implies  more  than  being  hurt.  If  I  be  hurt  by  a 
stone  falling  out  of  the  wall,  or  by  a  flash  of  lightning, 
or  by  a  convulsive  and  involuntary  motion  of  another 
man's  arm,  no  injury  is  done,  no  resentment  raised  in  a 
luan  that  has  reason.  In  this,  as  in  all  moral  actions, 
there  must  be  the  will  and  intention  of  the  agent  to  do 
the  hurt. 

Nor  is  this  suflicient  to  constitute  an  injury.  The 
man  who  breaks  my  fences,  or  treads  down  my  corn, 
when  he  cannot  otherwise  preserve  himself  from  de- 
struction, who  has  no  injurious  intention,  and  is  will- 
ing to  indemnify  me  for  the  hurt  which  necessity,  and 
not  ill  will,  led  him  to  do,  is  not  injurious,  nor  is  an  ob- 
ject of  resentment. 

The  executioner  who  does  his  duty,  in  cutting  off 
the  head  of  a  condemned  criminal,  is  not  an  object  of 
resentment.  He  does  nothing  unjust,  and  therefore 
uothing  injurious. 

From  this  it  is  evident,  that  an  injury,  the  object  of 
the  natural  passion  of  resentment,  implies  in  it  the  no- 
tion of  injustice.     And  it  is  no  less  evident,  that  no 


OF   JUSTICE.  361 

man  can  have  a  notion  of  injustice  without  having  the 
nuiion  otjustiee. 

To  sum  up  what  has  been  said  upon  this  point  ;  a 
favour,  an  act  of  justice,  and  an  injury,  are  so  related 
to  one  another,  that  he  who  conceives  one  must  con- 
ceive the  other  two.  They  lie,  as  it  were,  in  one  line, 
and  resemble  the  relations  of  greater,  less,  and  eqnal. 
If  one  understands  what  is  meant  by  one  line  being 
greater  or  less  than  another,  he  can  be  at  no  loss  to  un- 
derstand what  is  meant  by  i(8  being  equal  to  the 
other;  for,  if  it  be  neither  greater  nor  less,  it  must  be 
equal. 

In  like  manner,  of  those  actions  by  which  wc  prof- 
it or  hurt  other  men,  a  favour  is  more  than  justice,  an 
injury  is  less;  and  that  which  is  neither  a  favour  nop 
an  injury  is  a  just  action. 

As  soon,  therefore,  as  men  come  to  have  any  prop- 
er notion  of  a  favour  and  of  an  injury  ;  as  soon  as  they 
have  any  rational  exercise  of  gratitude  and  of  resent- 
ment;  so  soon  they  must  have  the  conception  of  jus- 
tice and  of  injustice;  and  if  gratitude  and  resentment 
be  natural  to  man,  which  Mr.  Hume  allows,  the  no- 
tion of  justice  must  be  no  less  natural. 

The  notion  of  justice  carries  inseparably  along  with 
it,  a  perception  of  its  moral  obligation.  For  to  say 
that  such  an  action  is  an  act  of  justice,  that  it  is  due, 
that  it  ought  to  be  done,  that  we  are  under  a  moral  ob- 
ligation to  do  it,  are  only  different  ways  of  expressing 
the  same  thing.  It  is  true,  that  we  perceive  no  high 
degree  of  moral  worth  in  a  merely  just  action,  when 
it  is  not  opposed  by  interest  or  passion  ;  but  we  per- 
ceive a  high  degree  of  turpitude  and  demerit  in  un- 
just actions,  or  in  the  omission  of  what  justice  re- 
quires. 

Indeed,  if  there  were  no  other  argument  to  prove, 
that  the  obligation  of  justice  is  not  solely  derived  from 


362  ESSAY   V. 

its  utilify  to  procure  what  is  agreeable  either  to  ourselves 
or  to  society',  this  would  he  sufficient,  that  the  very 
conception  of  justice  implies  its  obligation.  The  mo- 
rality of  justice  is  included  in  the  ver^  idea  of  it :  nor 
is  it  possible  that  the  concejMion  of  justice  can  enter  in- 
to the  human  mind,  without  canning  along  with  it  the 
conception  of  duty  and  moral  obligation.  Its  obliga- 
tion, therefore,  is  inseparable  from  its  nature,  and  is 
not  derived  solely  from  its  utility,  either  to  ourselves 
or  to  society. 

We  may  further  observe,  that  as  in  all  moral  esti- 
mation, every  action  takes  its  denomination  from  the 
motive  that  produces  if ;  so  no  action  can  properly  be 
denominated  an  act  of  justice,  unless  it  be  done  from  a 
regard  to  justice. 

If  a  man  pays  his  debt,  only  that  he  may  not  be  cast 
into  prison,  he  is  not  a  just  man,  because  prudence,  and 
not  justice,  is  his  motive.  And  if  a  man,  from  benev- 
olence and  charily,  gives  to  another  what  is  really  due 
to  him,  but  what  he  believes  not  to  be  due,  this  is  not 
an  act  of  justice  in  him,  but  of  charity  or  benevolence, 
because  it  is  not  done  from  a  motive  of  justice.  These 
are  self  evident  truths ;  nor  is  it  less  evident,  that  what 
a  man  does,  merely  to  procure  something  agreeable, 
either  to  himself  or  to  others,  is  not  an  act  of  justice, 
nor  has  the  merit  of  justice. 

Good  music  and  good  cookery  have  the  merit  of  util- 
ity, in  procuring  what  is  agreeable  both  to  ourselves 
and  to  society,  but  they  never  obtained  among  mankind 
the  denomination  of  moral  virtues.  Indeed,  if  this  au- 
thor's system  be  well  founded,  great  injustice  has  been 
done  them  on  that  account. 

I  shall  now  make  some  observations  upon  the  rea- 
soning of  this  author,  in  proof  of  his  favourite  princi- 
ple, that  justice  is  not  a  natural,  but  an  artificial  vir- 
tue ;  or,  as  it  is  expressed  in  the  Enquiry,  that  public 


or  JUSTICE.  36S 

uHHty  is  the  sole  oi'igin  of  justice,  ami  that  reflections 
oil  the  beneficial  consequeaces  of  this  virtue  are  the 
sole  foundation  of  its  merit. 

1st,  It  must  be  acknowledged,  that  this  principle  has 
a  necessary  connection  with  his  system  concerning  the 
foundation  of  all  virtue  ;  and  therefore  it  is  no  wonder 
that  he  has  taken  so  much  pains  to  support  it  j  for  the 
whole  system  must  stand  or  fall  widi  it. 

If  the  dulce  and  (he  utile,  that  is,  pleasure,  and  what 
is  useful  to  procure  pleasure,  he  the  whole  merit  of 
virtue,  justice  can  have  no  merit  beyond  its  utility  to 
procure  pleasure  If,  on  the  other  hand,  an  intrinsic 
worth  in  justice,  and  demerit  in  injustice,  be  discerned 
hy  every  man  that  has  a  conscience  ;  if  there  be  a 
natural  principle  in  the  constitution  of  man,  by  which 
justice  is  approved,  and  injustice  disapproved  and  con- 
demned, then  the  whole  of  this  laboured  system  mast 
fall  to  the  fijround. 

2dly,  We  may  observe,  that  as  justice  is  directly 
opposed  to  in'ury,  and  as  there  are  various  ways  in 
which  a  man  may  be  injured,  so  there  must  be  various 
branches  of  justice  opposed  to  the  different  kinds  of  in- 

jui-y- 

A  man  may  be  injured.  1st,  in  his  person,  by  wound- 
ing, maiming,  or  killing  him  ;  2dly,  in  his  family,  by 
robbing  him  of  his  children,  or  any  way  injuring  those 
he  is  bound  to  protect ;  3dly,  in  his  liberty,  by  confine- 
ment; 4thly.  in  his  reputation  ;  Sthly,  in  his  goods  op 
property ;  and,  laslly,  in  the  violation  of  contracts  or 
engagements  made  with  him.  This  enumeraiion* 
whe  her  complete  or  not,  is  sufficient  for  the  present 
purpose. 

The  different  branches  of  Justice,  opposed  to  these 
different  kinds  of  injury,  are  commonly  expressed  by 
saying,  that  an  innocent  man  has  a  right  to  the  safety 
of  his  person  and  family,  a  right  to  his  liberty  and 


S64f  ESSAY    V. 

reputation,  a  right  to  his  goods,  and  to  fidelity  to  en- 
gagements made  with  him.  To  say  that  lie  has  a  right 
to  these  things,  has  precisely  (he  same  meaning  as  to 
say,  that  Justice  requires  that  he  should  be  permitted 
lo  enjoy  them,  or  that  it  is  unjust  to  violate  them. 
For  injustice  is  the  violation  of  right,  and  justice  is, 
to  yield  to  every  man  what  is  his  right. 

These  things  being  understood  as  the  simplest  and 
most  common  ways  of  expressing  the  various  branches 
of  justice,  we  are  to  consider  how  far  Mr.  Hume's  rea- 
soning proves  any  or  all  of  them  to  be  artiticial.  or 
grounded  solely  upon  public  utility.  The  last  of  them, 
fidelity  to  engagements,  is  to  be  the  subject  of  the  next 
chapter,  and  therefore  I  shall  say  nothing  of  it  in  this. 

The  four  first  named,  to  wit,  the  right  of  an  inno- 
cent man  to  the  safety  of  his  person  and  family,  to  his 
liberty  and  reputation,  are,  by  the  writers  on  jurispru- 
dence, called  naUiral  rights  of  man,  because  they  are 
grounded  in  the  nature  of  man  as  a  rational  and  moral 
agent,  and  are,  by  his  Creator,  committed  to  his  care 
and  keeping.  By  being  called  naturaU  or  innate,  they 
are  distinguished  from  acquired  rights,  which  suppose 
some  previous  act  or  deed  of  man  by  which  they  are 
acquired,  whereas  natural  rights  suppose  nothing  of 
this  kind. 

When  a  man's  natural  rights  are  violated,  he  per* 
ceives  intuitively,  and  he  feels,  that  he  is  injured.  The 
feeling  of  his  heart  arises  from  the  judgment  of  bis  un- 
derstanding; for  if  he  did  not  believe  that  the  hurt  was 
intended,  and  unjustly  intended,  he  would  not  have  that 
feeling.  He  perceives  that  injury  is  done  to  himself, 
and  that  he  has  a  right  to  redress.  The  natural  prin- 
ciple of  resentment  is  roused  by  the  view  of  its  prop- 
er object,  and  excites  him  to  defend  his  right.  Even 
ihe  injurious  person  is  conscious  of  his  doing  injury; 
he  dreads  a  just  retaliation  ^  and  if  it  be  in  the  power 


OF   JUSTICE.  365 

ef  the  injured  person^  he  expects  it  as  due  and  de- 
served. 

That  these  sentioients  spring  up  in  the  mind  of 
man  as  naturally  as  his  hu^y  grows  to  its  proper  stat- 
ure; that  they  are  not  the  birth  of  instruction,  either 
of  parents,  priests,  philosophers,  or  politicians,  but  the 
pure  growth  of  nature,  cannot,  I  think,  without  ef- 
frontery, be  denied.  We  find  them  equally  strong 
in  the  most  savage  and  in  the  most  civilized  tribes  of 
mankind  ;  and  nothing  can  weaken  them  but  an  inveter- 
ate habit  of  rapiae  and  bloodshed,  which  benumbs  the 
conscience,  and  turns  men  into  wild  beasts. 

The  public  good  is  very  properly  considered  by  the 
judge  who  punishes  a  private  injury,  but  seldom  enters 
into  the  thought  of  the  injured  person.  In  all  criminal 
law,  the  redress  due  to  the  private  sufferer  is  distin- 
guished from  that  which  is  due  to  the  public  ;  a  dis- 
tinction which  could  have  no  foundation,  if  the  demerit 
of  injustice  arose  solely  from  its  hurting  the  public. 
And  every  man  is  conscious  of  a  specific  diTerence  be- 
tween the  resentment  he  feels  for  an  injury  done  to 
himself,  and  his  indignation  against  a  wrong  done  to  the 
public. 

I  think,  therefore,  it  is  evident,  that,  of  the  six 
branches  of  justice  we  mentioned,  four  are  natural,  in 
the  strictest  sense,  being  founded  upon  the  constitution 
of  man,  and  antecedent  to  all  deeds  and  conventions  of 
society ;  so  that,  if  there  were  but  two  men  upon  the 
earth,  one  might  be  unjust  and  injurious,  and  the  other 
injured. 

But  does  Mr.  Hume  maintain  the  contrary  ? 

To  this  question  I  answer,  that  his  doctrine  seems 
to  imply  it,  but  I  hope  he  meUnt  it  not. 

He  affirms  in  general,  that  justice  is  not  a  natural 
virtue ;  that  it  derives  its  origin  solely  from  public  util- 
ity, and  that  reflections  on  the  beneficial  consequences 

vol.  IV.  47 


366  ESSAY   V. 

of  this  virtue  are  the  sole  foundation  of  its  merit.  He 
mentions  no  particular  branch  of  justice  as  an  excep* 
tion  to  this  general  rule;  ^et  justice,  in  common  lan- 
guage, and  in  all  the  writers  on  jurisprudence  I  am  ac- 
quainted with,  comprehends  the  four  branches  above 
mentioned.  His  doctrine,  therefore,  according  to  the 
common  construction  of  words,  extends  to  these  four, 
as  well  as  to  the  two  other  branches  of  justice. 

On  the  other  hand,  if  we  attend  to  his  long  and  la- 
boured proof  of  this  doctrine,  it  appears  evident,  that 
he  had  in  his  eye  only  two  particular  branches  of  jus- 
tice. No  part  of  his  reasoning  applies  to  the  other 
four.  He  seems,  I  know  not  why,  to  have  taken 
up  aconBned  notion  of  justice,  and  to  have  restricted 
it  to  a  regard  to  property  and  fidelity  in  contracts. 
As  to  other  branches  he  is  silent.  He  no  where  says, 
that  it  is  not  natui-ally  criminal  to  rob  an  innocent  man 
of  his  life,  of  his  children,  of  his  liberty,  or  of  his  rep- 
utation ;  and  I  am  apt  to  think  he  never  meant  it. 

The  only  philosopher  I  know  who  has  had  the  as- 
surance to  maintain  this,  is  Mr.  Hobbes,  who  makes 
the  state  of  nature  to  be  a  state  of  war,  of  every  man 
against  every  man  ;  and  of  such  a  war  in  which  every 
man  has  a  right  to  do  and  to  acquire  whatever  bis  pow- 
er can,  by  any  means,  accomplish;  that  is,  a  state 
wherein  neither  right  nor  injury,  justice  nor  injustice, 
can  possibly  exist. 

Mr.  Hume  mentions  this  system  of  Hobbes,  but  with- 
out adopJing  it,  though  he  allows  it  the  authority  of 
Cicero  in  its  favour. 

He  says  in  a  note,  *<  This  fiction  of  a  state  of  na- 
ture as  a  state  of  war,  was  not  first  started  by  Mr. 
Hobbes,  as  is  commonly  imagined.  Plato  endeavours 
to  refute  an  hypothesis  very  like  it,  in  the  2d,  3d,  and 
ith  books,  De  Kepublica.    Cicero,  on  the  contrary,* 


OF   JUSTICE.  367 

supposes  it  certain,  and   universally  acknowledged,  in 
the  following  passage,  &c."    Pro  Sextio,  1.  43, 

The  passage  which  he  quotes  at  large,  from  one  of 
Cicero's  Orations,  seems  to  me  to  require  some  strain- 
ing to  make  it  tally  with  the  system  of  Mr.  Hohbes. 
Be  this  as  it  may,  Mr.  Uume  might  have  added,  that 
Cicero,  in  his  Orations,  like  many  other  pleaders,  some- 
times says,  not  what  he  believed,  but  what  was  fit  to 
support  the  cause  of  his  client.  That  Cicero's  opinion, 
wi'h  regard  to  the  natural  obligation  of  justice,  was 
very  different  from  that  of  Mr.  Hobbes,  and  even  from 
Mr.  Hume's,  is  very  well  known. 

Sdly,  As  Mr.  Hume,  therefore,  has  said  nothing  to 
prove  the  four  branches  of  justice  which  relate  to  the 
innate  rights  of  men  to  be  artificial,  or  to  derive  their 
origin  solely  from  public  utility,  I  proceed  to  the  fifth 
branch,  which  requires  us  not  to  invade  another  man's 
property. 

Tlie  right  of  property  is  not  innate,  but  acquired. 
It  is  not  grounded  upon  the  constitution  of  man,  but 
upon  his  actions.  AVriters  on  jurisprudence  have  ex- 
plained its  origin  in  a  manner  that  may  satisfy  every 
man  of  common  understanding. 

The  earth  is  given  to  men  in  common  for  the  pur- 
poses of  life,  by  the  bounty  of  heaven.  But,  to  divide 
it,  and  appropriate  one  part  of  its  produce  to  one, 
another  part  to  another,  must  be  the  work  of  men, 
who  have  power  and  understanding  given  them,  by 
which  every  man  may  accommodate  himself  without 
hurt  to  any  other. 

This  common  right  of  every  man  to  what  the  earth 
produces,  before  it  be  occupied  and  appropriated  by 
others  was,  by  ancient  moralists,  very  properly  compar- 
ed to  the  right  which  every  citizen  had  to  the  pubUc 
theatre,  where  every  man  that  came  might  occupy  an 
empty  seat,  and  thereby  acquire  a  right  to  it  while  the 


368  ESSAY   y. 

entertainment  lasted  ,•  but  no  man  liad  a  right  to  dis- 
possess another. 

The  earth  is  a  great  theatre,  furnished  by  the  Al- 
Diighty,  villi  perfect  wisdom  and  goodness,  for  the  en- 
tertainment and  employment  of  all  mankind.  Here 
every  man  has  a  right  to  accommodate  himself  as  a 
spectator,  and  to  perform  his  part  as  an  actor,  but  with- 
out hurt  to  others. 

He  who  does  so  is  a  just  man,  and  thereby  entitled 
to  some  degree  of  moral  approbation ;  and  he  who 
not  only  does  no  hurt,  but  employs  his  power  to  do 
good,  is  a  good  man,  and  is  thereby  entitled  to  a  high- 
er degree  of  moral  approbation.  But  he  who  jusiles 
and  molests  his  neighbour,  who  deprives  him  of  any 
aeeoramodation  which  his  industry  has  provided  with- 
out hurt  to  others^  is  unjust,  and  a  proper  object  of  re- 
sentment. 

It  is  true,  therefore,  that  property  has  a  beginning 
from  the  actions  of  men,  occupying,  and  perhaps  im- 
proving, by  their  industry,  what  was  common  by  na- 
ture. It  is  true  also,  that  before  property  exists,  that 
branch  of  justice  and  injustice  which  regards  proper- 
ty cannot  exist.  But  it  is  also  true,  that  where  there 
are  men,  there  will  very  soon  be  property  of  one  kind 
or  another,  and  consequently  there  will  be  that  branch 
of  justice  which  attends  property  as  its  guardian. 

There  are  two  kinds  of  property  which  we  may  dis- 
tinguish. 

Thcj^rsiis  what  must  presently  be  consumed  to 
sustain  life  ;  the  second,  which  is  more  permanent,  is 
what  may  be  laid  up  and  stored  for  the  supply  of  future 
wants. 

Some  of  the  gifts  of  nature  must  be  used  and  con- 
sumed by  individuals  for  the  daily  support  of  life  ;  but 
they  cannot  be  used  till  they  be  occupied  and  appropriat- 
ed.   If  another  person  may,  without  injustice,  rob 


OF  JUSTICE.  369 

me  of  what  I  have  innocently  occupied  for  present 
subsisience^  the  necessary  consequence  must  be,  that  he 
nay*  without  injustice,  take  away  my  life. 

A  right  to  life  implies  a  right  to  the  necessary  means 
of  life.  And  that  justice  which  forbids  the  taking  away 
the  life  of  an  innocent  man,  forbids  no  less  the  taking 
from  liira  the  necessary  means  of  life.  He  has  the  same 
right  to  defend  the  one  as  the  other ;  and  nature  inspires 
him  with  the  same  just  resentment  of  the  one  injury  as 
of  the  other. 

The  natural  right  of  liberty  implies  a  right  to  such 
innocent  labour  as  a  man  chooses,  and  to  the  fruit  of 
that  labour.  To  hinder  another  man's  innocent  labour, 
or  to  deprive  him  of  the  fruit  of  it,  is  an  injustice  of 
the  same  kind,  and  has  the  same  effect  as  to  put  hira 
in  fetters  or  in  prison,  and  is  equally  a  just  object  of 
resentment. 

Thus  it  appears,  that  some  kind,  or  some  degree, 
of  property  must  exist  wherever  men  exist,  and  that 
the  right  to  such  property  is  the  necessary  consequence 
of  the  natural  right  of  men  to  life  and  liberty. 

It  has  been  further  observed,  that  God  has  made 
man  a  sagacious  and  provident  animal,  led  by  his  con- 
stitution not  only  to  occupy  and  use  what  nature  has 
provided  for  the  supply  of  his  present  wants  and  ne- 
cessities, but  to  foresee  future  wants  and  to  provide  for 
them  ;  and  that  not  only  for  himself,  but  for  his  family, 
his  friends  and  connections. 

He  therefore  acts  in  perfect  conformity  to  his  nature, 
when  he  stores,  of  the  fruit  of  his  labour,  what  may 
afterwards  be  useful  to  himself  or  to  others;  when  he 
invents  and  fabricates  utensils  or  machines  by  which 
his  labour  may  be  facilitated,  and  its  produce  increas- 
ed ;  and  when,  by  exchanging  with  his  fellow  men  com- 
modities or  labour,  he  accommodates  both  himself  and 
them.    These  are  the  natural  and  innocent  exertions 


370  ESSAY     V. 

of  (hat  understanding  wherovith  his  Maker  has  en- 
dowed him.  He  has  therefore  a  right  <o  excreise 
them,  and  to  enjoy  the  fruit  of  them.  Every  man  who 
impedes  him  in  making  such  exertions,  or  deprives  him 
of  the  fruit  of  them,  is  injurious  and  unjust,  and  an  ob- 
ject of  just  resentment. 

Many  brute  animals  are  led  by  instinct  to  provide 
for  futurity,  and  to  defend  their  store,  and  their  store- 
house, against  all  invaders.  There  seems  to  be  in  man, 
before  the  use  of  reason,  an  instinct  of  the  same  kind. 
"When  reason  and  conscience  grow  up,  they  approve 
and  justify  this  provident  care,  and  condemn,  as  unjust, 
every  invasion  of  others,  that  may  frustrate  it. 

Two  instances  of  this  provident  sagacity  seem  to  be 
peculiar  to  man.  I  mean  the  invention  of  utensils  and 
luachines  for  facilitating  labour,  and  the  making  ex- 
changes with  his  fellow  men  for  mutual  benefit.  No 
tribe  of  men  has  been  found  so  rude  as  not  to  practise 
these  things  in  some  degree.  And  I  know  no  tribe  of 
brutes  that  was  ever  observed  to  practise  them.  They 
neither  invent  nor  use  utensils  or  machines,  nor  do  they 
traffic  by  exchanges. 

From  these  observations,  I  think  it  evident,  that 
man,  even  in  the  state  of  nature,  by  his  powers  of 
body  and  mind,  may  acquire  permanent  property,  or 
ivhat  we  call  riches,  by  which  his  own  and  his  family's 
ivants  are  more  liberally  supplied,  and  his  power  en- 
larged to  requite  his  benefactors,  to  relieve  objects  of 
compassion,  to  make  friends,  and  to  defend  his  proper- 
ty against  unjust  invaders.  And  we  know  from  histo- 
ry, that  men,  who  had  no  superior  on  earth,  no  con- 
nection with  any  public  beyond  their  own  family,  have 
acquired  property,  and  had  distinct  notions  of  that  jus- 
tice and  injustice,  of  which  it  is  the  object. 

Every  man,  as  a  reasonable  creature,  has  a  right  to 
gratify  his  natural  and  innocent  desires  without  hurt 


or  JUSTICE,  371 

to  others.  No  desire  is  more  natural,  or  more  reason- 
able, than  that  of  supplying  his  wants.  When  this  is 
ilone  without  hurt  to  any  man,  to  hinder  or  frustrate 
his  innocent  labour,  is  an  unjust  violation  of  bis  natu- 
ral  liberty.  Private  utility  leads  a  man  to  desire  prop- 
erty, and  to  labour  for  it ;  and  hi^  right  to  it  is  only  a 
right  to  labour  for  his  own  benedt. 

That  public  utility  is  the  sole  origin,  even  of  that 
branch  of  justice  which  regards  property,  is  so  far 
from  being  true,  that  when  men  confederate  and  con- 
stitute a  public,  under  laws  and  government,  the  right 
of  each  individual  to  his  property  is,  by  that  confeder- 
ation, abridged  and  limited.  In  the  state  of  nature, 
every  man's  property  was  solely  at  his  own  disposal, 
because  he  had  no  superior.  In  civil  society  it  must 
be  subject  to  the  laws  of  the  society.  He  gives  up  lo 
the  public  part  of  that  right  which  he  had  in  the  state 
of  nature,  as  the  price  of  that  protection  and  security 
ivhich  he  receives  from  civil  society.  In  the  state  of 
nature,  he  was  sole  judge  in  his  own  cause,  and  had 
right  to  defend  his  property,  his  liberty,  and  life,  as  far 
as  his  power  reached.  In  the  state  of  civil  society,  he 
must  submit  to  the  judgment  of  the  society,  and  ac- 
quiesce in  its  sentence,  though  he  should  conceive  it  to 
be  unjust. 

What  was  said  above,  of  the  natural  right  every  man 
has  to  acquire  permanent  property,  and  to  dispose  of 
St,  must  be  understood  with  this  condition,  that  no 
other  man  be  thereby  deprived  of  the  necessary  means 
of  life.  The  right  of  an  innocent  man  to  the  necessa- 
ries of  life,  is,  in  its  nature,  superior  to  that  which  the 
rich  man  has  to  his  riches,  even  though  they  be  honest- 
ly acquired.  The  use  of  riches,  or  permanent  proper- 
ty, is  (o  supply  future  and  casual  wants,  which  ought 
to  yield  to  present  and  certain  necessity. 

As,  in  a  family,  justice  requires  that  the  children 
ivho  are  unable  to  labour,  and  those  who;  by  sickness, 


'37Sf  ESSAY   V, 

are  disabled,  should  have  their  necessities  supplied  out 
of  the  coiniiion  stock,  so,  in  the  great  family  of  God, 
of  which  all  mankind  are  the  ciiildren.  justice,  [  think, 
as  well  as  charity,  requires,  that  the  necessities  of  those 
who,  by  the  providence  of  God,  are  disabled  from  sup- 
plying themselves,  should  be  supplied  from  what  might 
otherwise  be  stored  for  future  wants. 

Fiom  this  it  appears,  that  the  right  of  acquiring  and 
that  of  disposing  of  property,  may  be  sulyect  to  limita- 
tions and  restrictions,  even  in  the  state  of  nature,  and 
much  more  in  the  stale  of  civil  society,  in  which  the 
public  has  what  writers  in  jurisprudence  call  an  emi- 
nent dominion  over  the  property,  as  well  as  over  the 
lives  of  the  subjects,  as  far  as  the  public  good  requires. 
If  these  principles  be  well  founded,  Mr.  Hume's  ar- 
guments to  prove  that  justice  is  an  artificial  virtue,  or 
that  its  public  utility  is  the  sole  foundation  of  its  merit, 
may  be  easily  answered. 

He  supposes,  1st,  a  state  in  which  nature  has  be- 
stowed on  the  human  race,  such  abundance  of  exter- 
nal goods,  that  every  man,  without  care  or  industry, 
finds  himself  provided  of  whatever  he  can  wish  or  de- 
sire. It  is  evident,  says  he,  that  in  such  a  state,  the 
cautious  jealous  virtue  of  justice  would  never  once  have 
been  dreamed  of. 

It  may  be  observed,  tst,  that  this  argument  applies 
only  to  one  of  the  six  branches  of  justice  before  men- 
tioned. The  other  five  are  not  in  the  least  affected  by 
it ;  and  the  reader  will  easily  perceive  that  this  obser- 
vation applies  to  almost  all  his  arguments,  so  that  it 
need  not  be  repeated. 

2dly,  All  that  this  argument  proves  is,  that  a  state 
of  the  human  race  may  be  conceived  wherein  no  prop- 
erty exists,  and  where,  of  consequence,  there  can  be 
no  exercise  of  that  branch  of  justice  which  respects 
property.    Bui  dues  it  fuUow  from  this,  that  \>here 


OF   JUSTICE.  S78 

Propevty  exists,  and  must  exist,  that  no  regard  ought 
to  be  had  to  it  ? 

He  next  supposes  that  the  necessicies  of  the  human 
race  continuing  the  same  as  at  present,  the  mind  is  so 
enlarged  with  friendsliip  and  generosity,  that  every 
man  feels  as  much  tenderness  and  concern  for  the  in- 
terest of  every  man,  as  for  his  own.  It  seems  evident, 
he  says,  that  the  use  of  justice  would  be  suspended  by 
such  an  extensive  benevolence,  nor  would  the  divisions 
and  barriers  of  property  and  obligation  have  ever  been 
thought  of. 

I  answer,  the  conduct  which  this  extensive  benevo- 
lenee  leads  to,  is  either  perfectly  consistent  with  jus- 
tice, or  It  is  not.  1st,  If  there  be  any  case  where  this 
benevolence  would  lead  us  to  do  injustice,  the  use  of 
justice  is  not  suspended.  Its  obligation  is  superior  to 
that  of  benevolence  ;  and,  to  show  benevolence  to  one, 
at  the  expence  of  injustice  to  another,  is  immoral. 
2dly,  Supposing  no  such  case  could  happen,  the  use  of 
justice  would  not  be  suspended,  because  by  it  we  must 
distinguish  good  offices  to  which  we  had  a  right,  from 
those  to  which  we  had  no  right,  and  which  therefore 
require  a  return  of  gratitude.  3dly,  Supposing  the 
use  of  justice  to  be  suspended,  as  it  must  be  in  every 
case  where  it  cannot  be  exercised,  will  it  follow,  that 
ats  obligation  is  suspended,  where  there  is  access  to  ex- 
ercise  it  ? 

A  third  supposition  is  the  reverse  of  the  first,  that  a 
society  falls  into  extreme  want  of  the  necessaries  of 
life.  The  question  is  put,  whether  in  such  a  case,  an 
equal  partition  of  bread,  without  regard  to  private 
property,  though  effected  by  power,  and  even  by  vio- 
lence, would  be  regarded  as  criminal  and  injurious? 
And  the  author  conceives  that  this  would  be  a  suspen- 
sion of  the  strict  laws  of  justice. 

TOI.   IV.  *8 


67i!  ESSAY   V, 

I  answer,  that  such  an  equal  partition  as  Mr.  Hum« 
mentions,  is  so  far  from  being  criminal  or  injurious, 
that  justice  requires  it;  and  surely  tliat  cannot  be  a 
suspension  of  the  laws  of  justice,  which  is  an  act  of 
justice.  All  that  the  strictest  justice  requires  in  such 
a  case,  is,  that  the  man  whose  life  is  preserved  at  the 
expense  of  another,  and  without  his  consent,  should 
indemnify  him  when  he  is  able.  His  case  is  similar  to 
that  of  a  debtor  who  is  insolvent,  without  any  fault  oa 
his  part.  Justice  requires  that  he  should  be  forborn 
till  he  is  able  to  pay.  It  is  strange  that  Mr.  Hume 
should  think  that  an  action,  neither  criminal  nor  inju- 
rious, sliould  be  a  suspension  of  the  laws  of  justice. 
This  seems  to  me  a  contradiction^  for  justice  and  inju- 
ry are  contradictory  terms. 

The  next  argument  is  thus  expressed :  "  When  any 
man,  even  in  political  society,  renders  himself,  by 
crimes,  obnoxious  to  the  public,  he  is  punished  in  his 
goods  and  person;  that  is,  the  ordinary  rules  of  justice 
are,  with  regard  to  him,  suspended  for  a  moment,  and 
it  becomes  equitable  to  inflict  on  him,  what  other- 
wise he  could  not  suffer  without  wrong  or  injury.'* 

This  argument,  like  the  former,  refutes  itself.  For 
that  an  action  should  be  a  suspension  of  the  rules  of 
justice,  and  at  the  same  time  equitable,  seems  to  me 
a  contradiction.  It  is  possible  that  equity  may  inter- 
fere with  the  letter  of  human  laws,  because  all  the 
cases  that  may  fall  under  them,  cannot  be  foreseen; 
but  that  equity  should  interfere  with  justice  is  impos- 
sible. It  is  strange  that  Mr.  Hume  should  think,  that 
justice  requires  that  a  criminal  should  be  treated  in 
the  same  way  as  an  innocent  man, 

^Another  argument  is  taken  from  public  war.  What 
is  it,  says  he,  but  a  suspension  of  justice  among  the 
warring  parties?  The  laws  of  war,  which  then  succeed 


OF   JUSTICE.  S75 

to  those  of  equity  and  justice,  are  rules  calculated  for 
the  advantage  and  utility  of  that  pavtieular  state  in 
which  men  are  now  placed. 

I  answer,  when  war  is  undertaken  for  self  defence, 
or  for  reparation  of  intolerable  injuries,  justice  au- 
thorizes it.  The  laws  of  war,  which  have  been  de- 
scribed by  ntany  judicious  moralists,  are  all  drawn 
from  the  fountain  of  justice  and  equity ;  and  every 
thing  contrary  to  justice,  is  contrary  to  the  laws  of  war. 
That  justice,  which  prescribes  one  rule  of  conduct  to 
a  master,  another  to  a  servant  j  one  to  a  parent,  anoth- 
er to  a  child ;  prescribes  also  one  rule  of  conduct  tow- 
ard a  friend,  another  toward  an  enemy.  I  do  not  un- 
derstand what  Mr.  Hume  means  by  the  advantage  and 
utility  of  a  state  of  war,  for  which  he  says  the  laws  of 
war  are  calculated,  and  succeed  to  those  of  justice  and 
equity.  I  know  no  laws  of  war  that  are  not  calculated 
for  justice  and  equity. 

The  next  argument  is  this,  were  there  a  species  of 
creatures  intermingled  with  men,  which,  though  ra- 
tional, were  possessed  of  such  inferior  strength,  both 
of  body  and  mind,  that  they  were  incapable  of  all  re- 
sistance, and  could  never,  upon  the  highest  provoca- 
tion, make  us  feel  the  effects  of  their  resentment ;  the 
necessary  consequence,  I  think  is,  that  we  should  be 
bound,  by  the  laws  of  humanity,  to  give  gentle  usage 
to  these  creatures,  but  should  not,  properly  speaking, 
lie  under  any  restraint  of  justice  with  regard  to  them, 
nor  could  they  possess  any  right  or  property,  exclusive 
of  such  arbitrary  lords. 

If  Mr.  Hume  had  not  owned  this  sentiment  as  a  con- 
sequence of  his  Theory  of  Morals,  I  should  have 
thought  it  very  uncharitable  to  impute  it  to  him. 
However,  we  may  judge  of  the  theory  by  its  avow- 
ed consequence.    For  there  cannot  be  better  evidence, 


37  tJ  ESSAY    V. 

that  a  theor;v  of  morals,  or  of  an^  particular  virtue,  h 
false,  (han  >vheii  it  subverts  the  practical  rules  of  mor- 
als. This  defenceless  species  of  rational  creatures  is 
doomed  hy  Mr.  Hume  to  have  no  rights.  Why?  Be- 
cause they  have  no  power  to  defend  themselves.  Is 
not  this  to  say,  that  riglit  has  its  origin  from  power  ; 
which,  indeed,  was  the  doctrine  of  Mr.  Hohbes.  And 
to  illustrate  this  doctrine,  Mr.  Hume  adds,  that  as  no 
inconvenience  ever  results  from  the  exercise  of  a  pow- 
er, so  firmly  established  in  nature,  the  restraints  of 
justice  and  property  being  totally  useless,  could  never 
have  place  in  so  unequal  a  confederacy ;  and,  to  the 
same  purpose,  he  says,  that  the  female  part  of  our  own 
species,  owe  the  share  they  have  in  the  rights  of  socie.. 
ty,  to  the  power  which  their  address  and  their  charms 
give  them.  If  this  be  sound  morals,  Mr.  Hume^s  the- 
ory of  justice  may  be  true. 

We  may  here  observe,  that  though,  in  other  places, 
Mr.  Hume  founds  the  obligation  of  justice  upon  its 
utility  to  ourselves^  or  to  others,  it  is  here  founded  sole- 
ly upon  utility  to  ourselves.  For  surely  to  be  treated 
with  justice  would  be  highly  useful  to  the  defenceless 
species  he  here  supposes  to  exist.  But  as  no  inconve- 
nience to  ourselves  can  ever  result  from  our  treatment 
of  them,  he  concludes  that  justice  would  be  useless, 
and  therefore  can  have  no  place.  Mr.  Hobbes  could 
have  said  no  more. 

He  supposes,  in  the  last  place,  a  state  of  human  na- 
ture, wherein  all  society  and  intercourse  is  cut  off  be- 
tween man  and  man.  It  is  evident,  he  says,  that  so 
solitary  a  being  would  be  as  much  incapable  of  justice 
as  of  social  discourse  and  conversation. 

And  would  not  so  solitary  a  being  be  as  incapable 
of  friendship,  generosity  and  compassion,  as  of  jus- 
tice? If  this  argument  prove  justice  to  be  an  artificial 


OF  JUSTICE.  377 

virtue,  it  will,  with  equal  force,  prove  every  social  vir- 
tue to  be  ai'tiUclal. 

These  are  the  arguments  which  Mr.  Hume  has  ad- 
vanced in  his  Enquiry,  m  the  first  part  of  a  long  sec- 
tion upon  justice. 

In  the  second  part,  the  arguments  are  not  so  clearly 
distinguished,  nor  can  they  be  easily  collected.  I  shall 
offer  some  remarks  upon  what  seems  most  specious  in 
this  second  part. 

He  begins  with  observing,  *«  That,  if  we  examine 
the  parficular  laws  by  which  justice  is  directed  and 
property  determined,  they  present  us  with  the  same 
conclusion.  The  good  of  mankind  is  the  only  object 
of  all  those  laws  and  regulations." 

It  is  not  easy  to  perceive  where  the  stress  of  this 
argument  lies.  T/ie  good  of  mankind  is  the  object 
of  all  tin  laws  and  regulations  by  which  justice  is 
directed  and  property  determined;  therefore  justice  is 
not  a  natural  virtue,  but  has  its  origin  solely  from  pub- 
lic utility*  and  its  beneficial  consequences  ar€  the  sole 
foundation  of  its  merit. 

Some  step  seems  to  be  wanting  to  connect  the  ante- 
cedent proposition  with  the  conclusion,  which,  I  think, 
must  be  one  or  other  of  these  two  propositions  j  1st, 
Jill  the  rules  of  justice  tend  to  public  utility  ;  or,  2dly, 
Public  utility  is  the  only  standard  of  justice,  from 
which  alone  all  its  rules  must  be  deduced. 

If  the  argument  be,  that  justice  must  have  its  origin 
solely  from  public  utility,  because  all  its  rules  tend  to 
public  utility,  I  cannot  admit  the  consequence;  nor 
can  Mr.  Hume  admit  it  without  overturning  his  own 
system.  For  the  rules  of  benevolence  and  humanity 
do  all  tend  to  the  public  utility,  and  yet  in  his  system, 
they  have  another  foundation  in  humsvn  nature;  so 
likewise  may  the  rules  of  justice. 


37S  ESSAY   V. 

I  am  apt  to  think,  therefore,  that  the  argument  is 
to  be  taken  in  the  last  sense,  (hat  publie  utility  is  the 
only  standard  of  justice,  from  which  all  its  rules  must 
be  deduced ;  and  therefore  justice,  has  its  origin  solely 
from  public  utility. 

This  seems  to  be  Mr.  Hume's  meaning,  because,  in 
what  follows,  he  observes,  that,  in  order  to  establish 
laws  for  the  regulation  of  property,  we  must  be  ac- 
quainted with  the  nature  and  situation  of  man  :  must 
reject  appearances  which  may  be  false,  though  spe- 
cious; and  must  search  for  those  rules  which  are,  on 
the  whole,  most  useful  and  beneficial ;  and  endeavours 
to  show,  that  the  established  rules  which  regard  prop- 
erty are  more  for  the  public  good,  than  the  system 
either  of  those  religious  fanatics  of  the  last  age,  who 
held,  that  saints  only  should  inherit  the  earth ;  or  of 
those  political  fanatics,  who  claimed  an  equal  division 
of  property. 

We  see  here,  as  before,  that  though  Mr.  Hume's 
conclusion  respects  justice  in  general,  his  argument  is 
confined  to  one  branch  of  justice;  to  wit,  the  right  of 
property  ;  and  it  is  well  known,  that,  to  conclude  from 
a  part  to  the  whole,  is  not  good  reasoning. 

Besides,  the  proposition  from  which  his  conclusion 
is  drawn,  cannot  be  granted,  either  with  regard  to 
property,  or  with  regard  to  the  other  branches  of  jus- 
tice. 

MVe  endeavoured  before  to  show,  that  property,  though 
not  an  innate  but  an  acquired  right,  may  be  acquired 
in  the  state  of  nature,  and  agreeably  to  the  laws  of  na- 
ture ;  and  that  this  right  has  not  its  origin  from  hu- 
man laws,  made  for  the  public  good,  though,  when 
men  enter  into  political  society,  it  may,  and  ought  to  be 
regulated  by  those  laws. 

If  there  were  but  two  men  upon  the  face  of  the  earth, 
of  ripe  faculties,  each  might  have  his  own  property, 


OF  JUSTICE.  37S 

and  might  know  liis  riglil  to  delend  it,  and  his  ohliga- 
tion  not  to  invade  the  properly  of  the  other.  He  would 
have  no  need  to  have  recourse  to  reasoning  from  public 
goud.  in  order  to  know  when  he  was  injured,  either  in 
his  property,  or  in  any  of  his  natural  rights,  or  to  know 
■what  rules  of  justice  he  ought  to  observe  toward  his 
neighbour. 

The  simple  rule,  of  not  doing  to  his  neighbour  what 
he  would  think  wrong  to  be  done  to  himself,  would 
lead  him  to  the  knowledge  of  every  branch  of  justice, 
without  the  consideration  of  public  good,  or  of  laws  and 
statutes  made  to  promote  it. 

It  is  not  true,  therefore,  that  public  utility  is  the 
only  standard  of  justice,  and  that  the  rules  of  justice 
can  be  deduced  only  from  their  public  utility. 

Aristides,  and  the  people  of  Athens,  had  surely 
another  notion  of  justice,  when  he  pronounced  the 
counsel  of  Tliemistoeles,  which  v;as  communicated  to 
him  only,  to  be  highly  useful,  but  unjust;  and  the  as- 
sembly, upon  this  authority,  rejected  the  proposal  un- 
heard. These  honest  citizens,  though  subject  to  no 
laws  but  of  their  own  making,  far  from  making  utility 
the  standard  of  justice^  madejustice  to  be  the  standard 
©futility. 

*'  What  is  a  ?nan's  property'^  Any  thing  which  it  is 
lawful  for  him,  and  for  him  alone,  to  use.  But  what 
rule  have  ive  by  which  we  can  distinguish  these  objects  ? 
Here  we  must  have  recourse  to  statutes,  customs, 
precedents,  analogies,  &c.'* 

Does  not  this  imply,  that,  in  the  state  of  nature, 
there  can  be  no  distinction  of  property  ?  If  so,  Mr. 
Hume's  state  of  nature  is  the  same  with  that  of  Mr. 
Hobbes. 

It  is  true,  that,  when  men  become  members  of  a  po- 
litical society,  they  subject  their  property,  as  well  as 


380  ESSAY  V. 

themselves,  to  the  laws,  and  must  either  acquiesce  ia 
what  the  laws  determine,  or  leave  the  society.  But 
justice,  and  even  that  particular  branch  of  it  which  our 
author  always  supposes  to  be  the  whole,  is  antecedent 
to  political  societies  and  to  their  laws;  and  ihe  inlen- 
tion  of  these  laws  is,  to  be  the  guardians  of  justice,  and 
to  redress  injuries. 

As  all  (he  works  of  men  are  imperfect,  human  laws 
may  be  unjust ;  which  could  never  be,  if  justice  had 
its  origin  from  law^  as  the  author  seems  here  to  insinu- 
ate. 

Justice  requires,  that  a  member  of  state  should  sub- 
mit to  the  laws  of  the  state,  when  they  require  nothing 
unjust  or  impious.  There  may,  therefore,  be  statu- 
tory rights  and  statutory  crimes.  A  statute  may  create 
a  right  which  did  not  before  exist,  or  make  that  to  be 
criminal  which  was  not  so  before.  But  this  could  never 
be,  if  there  were  not  an  antecedent  obligation  upon  the 
subjects  to  obey  the  statutes.  In  like  manner,  (he 
command  of  a  master  may  make  that  to  be  the  servant's 
duty  which,  before,  was  not  his  duty,  and  the  servant 
may  be  chargeable  with  injustice  if  he  disobeys,  be- 
cause he  was  under  an  antecedent  obligation  to  obey 
his  master  in  lawful  things. 

We  grant,  therefore,  that  particular  laws  may  direct 
justice  and  determine  property,  and  sometimes  evea 
upon  very  slight  reasons  and  analogies,  or  even  for  no 
other  reason  but  that  it  is  better  that  such  a  point 
should  be  determined  by  law  than  that  it  should  be  left 
a  dubious  subject  of  contention.  But  this,  far  from 
presenting  us  with  the  conclusion  which  the  author 
>vould  establish,  presents  us  with  a  contrary  conclusion. 
For  all  these  particular  laws  and  statutes  derive  their 
■whole  obligation  and  force  from  a  general  rule  of  jus- 
tice antecedent  to  them,  to  wit,  that  subjects  ought  to 
obey  the  laws  of  their  country. 


OF   JUSTICE,  381 

The  author  compares  the  rules  of  justice  with  Ihe 
most  frivolous  superstitious,  and  cau  (ind  no  foundation 
for  moral  sentiment  in  the  one  more  than  in  the  other, 
excepting  that  justice  is  requisite  to  the  well  being 
and  existence  of  society. 

It  is  very  true,  that,  if  we  examine  mine  and  tliine 
by  the  senses  of  sight,  smelU  or  touch ;  or  scruiinize 
them  by  the  sciences  of  medicine,  chymislry  or  physics, 
we  perceive  no  difference.  But  the  reason  is,  that  none 
of  these  senses  or  sciences  are  the  judges  of  right  or 
wrong,  or  cau  give  any  conception  of  them,  any  more 
than  the  ear  of  colour,  or  the  eye  of  sound.  Every 
man  of  common  understanding,  and  every  savage, 
when  he  applies  his  moral  faculty  to  those  objects,  per- 
ceives a  difference  as  clearly  as  he  perceives  day-light. 
When  that  sense  or  faculty  is  not  consulted,  in  vain 
do  we  consult  every  other,  in  a  question  of  right  and 
wrong. 

To  perceive  that  justice  tends  to  the  good  of  man- 
kind, would  lay  no  moral  obligation  upon  us  to  be  just, 
unless  we  be  conscious  of  a  moral  obligation  to  do  what 
tends  to  the  good  of  mankind.  If  such  a  moral  obliga- 
tion be  admitted,  why  may  we  not  admit  a  stronger  ob- 
ligation to  do  injury  to  no  uian  ?  The  last  obligation 
is  as  easily  conceived  as  the  first,  and  there  is  as  clear 
evidence  of  its  existence  in  human  nature* 

The  last  argument  is  a  dilemma,  and  is  thus  express- 
ed :  *'  The  dilemma  seems  obvious.  As  justice  evident- 
ly tends  to  promote  public  utility,  and  to  support  civil 
society,  the  sentiment  of  justice  is  either  derived  from 
our  reflecting  on  that  tendency,  or,  like  hunger,  thirst, 
and  other  appetites,  resentment,  love  of  life,  attach- 
ment to  offspring,  and  other  passions,  arises  from  a 
simple  original  instinct  in  the  human  breast,  which  nar 
ture  has  implanted  for  like  salutary  purposes.  If  the 
latter  be  the  case,  it  follows,  that  property,  which  is 
the  object  of  justice^,  is  also  distinguished  by  a  simple 

vol.  IV.  49 


383  ESSAY    V. 

ovigiiml  instinct,  and  is  not  ascertained  by  any  argu- 
ment or*  reflection.  But  wLo  is  there  that  ever  heard 
of  such  an  instinct,"  &c. 

I  doubt  not  but  Mr.  Hume  has  heard  of  a  principle 
called  conscience^  which  nature  has  implanted  in  the 
liumao  breast.  Whether  he  will  call  it  a  simple  orig- 
inal instinct,  I  know  not,  as  he  gives  that  name  to  all 
our  appetites,  and  to  all  our  passions.  From  this  prin- 
ciple, I  tiiink,  we  derive  the  sentiment  of  justice. 

As  the  eye  not  only  gives  us  the  conception  of  col- 
ours, but  makes  us  perceive  one  body  to  have  one  col- 
our, and  another  body  anotlier ;  and  as  our  reason  not 
only  gives  us  the  conception  of  true  and  false,  but  makes 
us  perceive  one  proposition  to  be  true,  and  another  to 
be  false  ;  so  our  conscience,  or  moral  faculty,  not  only 
gives  us  the  conception  of  honest  and  dishonest,  but 
makes  us  perceive  one  kind  of  conduct  to  be  honest, 
another  to  be  dishonest.  By  this  faculty  we  perceive 
a  merit  in  honest  conduct,  and  a  demerit  in  dishonest, 
without  regard  to  public  utility. 

That  these  sentiments  are  not  the  effect  of  education 
or  of  acquired  habits,  we  have  the  same  reason  to  con- 
clude, as  that  our  perception  of  what  is  true  and  what 
false,  is  not  the  effect  of  education  or  of  acquired  hab- 
its. There  have  been  men  who  professed  to  believe, 
that  there  is  no  ground  to  assent  to  any  one  proposi- 
tion rather  than  its  contrary  ;  but  I  never  yet  heard  of 
a  man  who  had  the  effrontery  to  profess  himself  to  be 
under  no  obligation  of  honor  or  honesty,  of  truth  or 
justice,  in  his  dealings  with  men. 

Nor  does  this  faculty  of  conscience  require  innate 
ideas  of  properly,  and  of  the  rarious  wnifs  of  acquirivg 
and  transfcrrini;  il,  or  innate  ideas  of  kings  and  sena- 
tors, ofprctors,  and  chancellors,  and  juries,  any  more 
than  the  faculty  of  seeing  requires  innate  ideas  of  col- 
ours, or  than  the  faculty  of  reasoning  requires  innata 
ideas  of  cones,  cylinders,  and  spheres. 


OF   THE   NATURE    OF   A   CONTRACT.  383 

CHAP.  VI. 

OF  THE  NATURE  AND  OBLIGATION  OF  A  CONTRACT. 

The  obligation  of  contracts  and  promises  is  a  mattei* 
SO  sacred,  and  of  siieli  con  sequence  to  human  society, 
that  speculations  which  have  a  tendency  to  weaken  that 
obligation,  and  to  perplex  men's  notions  on  a  subject  so 
plain  and  so  important,  ought  to  meet  with  the  disap- 
probafion  of  all  honest  men. 

Some  such  speculations,  I  think,  Me  have  in  tho 
third  volume  of  Mr.  Hume's  Treatise  of  Human  Na- 
ture, and  in  his  Enquiry  into  the  Principles  of  Morals ; 
and  my  design  in  this  chapter  is,  to  offer  some  obser- 
vations on  the  nature  of  a  contract  or  promise,  and  on 
two  passages  of  that  author  on  this  subject. 

I  am  far  from  saying  or  thinking,  that  Mr.  Hume 
meant  to  weaken  men's  obligations  to  honesty  and  fair 
dealing,  op  that  he  had  not  a  sense  of  these  obligations 
himself.  It  is  not  the  man  I  impeach,  but  his  writ- 
ings. Let  us  think  of  the  first  as  charitably  as  we 
can,  while  we  freely  examine  the  import  and  tendency 
of  the  last. 

Although  the  nature  of  a  contract  and  of  a  promise 
3s  perfectly  understood  by  all  men  of  common  under- 
standing;  yet,  by  attention  to  the  operations  of  mind 
signified  by  these  words,  we  shall  be  better  enabled  to 
judge  of  the  metaphysical  subtilties  which  have  been 
raised  about  them.  A  promise  and  a  contract  differ 
so  little  in  what  concerns  the  present  disquisition,  that 
the  same  reasoning,  as  Mr.  Hume  justly  observes,  ex- 
tends to  both.  In  a  promise,  one  party  only  comes  un- 
der the  obligation,  the  other  acquires  a  right  to  the 
prestation  promised.  But  we  give  the  name  of  a  con- 
tract to  a  transaction  in  which  each  party  comes  under 


S84-  ESSAY    V. 

an  obligation  to  (lie  oilier,  and  each  reciprocally  ac- 
quires a  rigFit  to  what  is  promised  by  the  other. 

The  Latin  word  pactum  seems  to  extend  to  both ; 
and  the  definition  given  of  it  in  the  Civil  Law,  and 
borrowed  from  Ulpian,  is,  Duoinim  pluriumve  in  idem 
pJacitiim  consensus,  IMiius,  a  modern  Civilian,  has  en- 
deavoured (o  make  this  definition  more  complete,  hy 
adding  the  words,  Obligaiionis  licitd  constituendce  vel 
ioUeniloi  causa  datns.  With  this  addition,  the  defini- 
tion is,  that  a  contract  is  the  consent  of  two  or  more 
persons  in  the  same  thing,  given  with  the  intention  of 
constituting  or  dissolving  lawfully  some  obligation. 

This  definition  is  perhaps  as  good  as  any  other  that 
can  be  given ;  yet,  1  believe,  every  man  will  acknowl- 
edge, that  it  gives  him  no  clearer  or  more  distinct  no- 
tion of  a  contract  than  he  had  before.  If  it  is  consid- 
ered as  a  strictly  logical  definition,  I  believe  some  ob- 
jections might  be  made  to  it ;  but  I  forbear  to  mentioa 
them,  because  I  believe  that  similar  objections  might 
be  made  to  any  definition  of  a  contract  that  can  be 
given. 

Nor  can  it  be  inferred  from  this,  that  the  notion  of 
a  contract  is  not  perfectly  clear  in  every  man  come  to 
years  of  under.ntanding.  For  this  is  common  to  many 
operations  of  the  mind,  that  although  we  understand 
them  perfectly,  and  are  in  no  danger  of  confounding 
them  with  any  thing  else;  yet  we  cannot  define  them 
according  to  the  rules  of  logic,  by  a  genus  and  a  spe- 
cific difference.  And  when  we  attempt  it,  we  rather 
darken  than  give  light  to  them. 

Is  there  any  thing  more  distinctly  understood  by  all 
men,  than  what  it  is  to  see,  to  hear,  to  remember,  to 
judge  ?  Yet  it  is  the  most  difficult  thing  in  the  world 
to  define  these  ojieralioiis  according  to  the  rules  of  log- 
ical definition.  But  it  is  not  more  difficult  than  it  is 
useless. 


OF  THE   NATURE   OF    A  CONTRACT.  S85 

Sometimes  philosophers  attempt  to  define  them; 
but  if  we  examine  their  definitions,  we  shall  find,  that 
they  amount  to  no  more  than  giving  one  synonymous 
word  for  another,  and  commonly  a  worse  for  a  belter. 
So  when  we  define  a  contract,  by  calling  it  a  consent, 
a  convention,  an  agreement,  what  is  this  but  giving  a 
synonymous  word  for  it,  and  a  word  that  is  neither 
more  expressive  nor  better  understood  ? 

One  boy  has  a  top,  another  a  scourge;  says  the  first 
to  the  other,  if  you  will  lend  me  your  scourge  as  long 
as  I  can  keep  up  my  top  with  it,  you  shall  next  have 
the  top  as  long  as  you  can  keep  it  up.  Agreed,  says 
the  other.  1  his  is  a  contract  perfectly  understood  by 
both  parties,  though  they  never  heard  of  the  definition 
given  by  Ulpian  or  by  Titius.  And  each  of  them  knows, 
that  he  is  injured  if  the  other  breaks  the  bargain,  and 
that  he  does  wrong  if  he  breaks  it  himself. 

The  operations  of  the  human  mind  may  be  divided 
into  two  classes,  the  solitary  and  the  social.  As  prom- 
ises and  contracts  belong  to  the  last  class,  it  may  be 
proper  to  explain  this  division. 

I  call  those  operations  solitary ^  which  may  be  per- 
formed by  a  man  in  solitude,  without  intercourse  with 
any  other  intelligent  being. 

I  call  those  operations  social,  which  necessarily  im- 
ply  social  intercourse  with  some  other  intelligent  being 
who  bears  a  part  in  them. 

A  man  may  see,  and  hear,  and  remember,  and  judge, 
and  reason ;  he  may  deliberate  and  form  purposes,  and 
execute  them,  without  the  intervention  of  any  other 
intelligent  being.  They  are  solitary  acts.  But  when 
he  asks  a  question  for  information,  when  he  testifies  a 
fact,  when  he  gives  a  command  to  bis  servant,  when  he 
makes  a  promise,  or  enters  into  a  contract,  these  are 
social  acts  of  mind,  and  can  have  no  existence  without 
the  intervention  of  some  other  intelligent  being,  who 


3f6  ESSAY    V. 

acts  a  part  in  tliem.  Between  (be  operations  of  the 
mind,  which,  for  want  of  a  more  proper  name,  I  have 
called  solitary,  and  those  I  have  called  sociaU  there  is 
this  very  remarkable  distinction,  that,  in  the  solitary, 
the  expression  of  them  by  words,  or  any  other  sensible 
si^n.  is  accidental.  They  may  exl^t,  and  be  complete, 
without  being  expressed,  without  being  known  to  any 
other  person.  But,  in  the  social  operations,  the  ex- 
pression is  essential.  They  cannot  exist  without  being 
expressed  by  words  or  signs,  and  known  to  the  other 
party. 

If  nature  had  not  made  man  capable  of  such  social 
operations  of  mind,  and  furnished  him  with  a  language 
to  express  them,  he  might  tiiink,  and  reason,  and  delib- 
erate, and  will ;  he  mi.^ht  have  desires  and  aversions, 
joy  and  sorrow;  in  a  word,  he  might  exert  all  those 
operations  of  mind,  which  the  writers  in  logic  and 
pneu mat ology  have  so  copiously  described  ^  but,  at  the 
same  lime,  he  would  still  be  a  solitary  being,  even 
when  in  a  crowd  ;  it  would  be  impossible  for  him  to 
put  a  q'lestion,  or  give  a  couimand.  to  ask  a  favour,  or 
testify  a  fact,  to  make  a  promise  or  a  bargain. 

I  take  it  to  be  the  common  opinion  of  philosophers, 
that  (he  social  operations  of  the  human  mind  are  not 
specifically  different  from  the  solitary,  and  that  they 
are  only  various  modifications  or  compositions,  of  our 
solitary  operations,  and  may  be  resolved  into  them. 

II  is,  for  this  reason,  probably,  that,  in  enumerating 
the  operations  «)f  the  mind,  (he  solitary  only  are  men- 
tioned, and  no  notice  at  all  taken  of  (he  social,  though 
they  are  familiar  to  every  man,  and  have  names  in  all 
languages. 

1  apprehend,  however,  it  will  be  found  extremely 
difiicull,  if  not  impossible,  to  resolve  our  social  opera- 
tions into  any  modification  or  composition  of  the  soli- 
tary :  and  that  aq  alieaipt  lo  do  this,  would  prove  a& 


QF   THE  NATrRE  OF  A  CONTRACT.       387 

ineffectual,  as  <Iie  attempts  that  have  been  made  to  re- 
solve all  our  social  affections  into  the  sellish.  The  so- 
cial operations  appear  to  be  as  simple  in  their  nature 
as  the  solitary.  They  are  found  in  every  individual 
of  the  species,  even  before  the  use  of  reason. 

The  power  which  man  has  of  holding  social  inter- 
course with  his  kind,  by  asking  and  refusing,  threat- 
ening and  supplicating,  commanding  and  obeying,  tes- 
ti^ing  and  promi>>ing,  must  either  be  a  distinct  facul- 
ty given  by  our  Maker,  and  a  part  of  our  constitution, 
like  the  powers  of  seeing  and  hearing,  or  it  must  be  a 
human  invention.  If  men  have  invented  this  art  of 
social  intercourse,  it  must  follow,  that  every  individual 
of  the  species  must  have  invented  it  for  himself.  It 
cannot  be  taught,  for  though,  when  once  carried  to  a 
certain  pitch,  it  may  be  improved  by  teaching  ;  yet  it 
is  impossible  it  can  begin  in  that  way,  because  all  teach- 
ing supposes  a  social  intercourse  and  language  already 
established  between  the  teacher  and  the  learner.  This 
intercourse  must,  from  the  very  first,  be  carried  on  by 
sensible  signs  ;  for  the  thoughts  of  other  men  can  be 
discovered  in  no  other  way.  I  think  it  is  likewise  evi- 
dent, that  this  intercourse,  in  its  beginning  at  least, 
must  be  carried  on  by  natural  signs,  whose  meaning 
is  understood  by  both  parties,  previous  to  all  compact 
or  agreement.  For  there  can  be  no  compact  without 
signs,  nor  without  social  intercourse. 

I  apprehend,  therefore,  that  the  social  intercourse 
of  mankind,  consisting  of  those  social  operations  which 
I  have  mentioned,  is  the  exercise  of  a  faculty  appro- 
priated to  that  purpose,  which  is  the  gift  of  God,  no 
less  than  the  powers  of  seeing  and  hearing.  And  that, 
in  order  to  carry  on  this  intercourse,  God  has  given  to 
man  a  natural  language,  by  which  his  social  operations 
are  expressed,  and,  without  which,  the  artificial  lan- 
guages of  articulate  sounds,  and  of  writing,  oould  never 
kave  been  invented  by  human  art. 


3SS  ESSAY  y. 

The  signs  in  this  natural  language  are  looks,  changes 
of  the  features,  modulations  of  the  voice,  and  gestures 
of  the  body.  All  men  understand  this  language  with- 
out instruction,  and  all  men  can  use  it  in  some  degree. 
But  they  are  most  expert  in  it  who  use  it  most.  It 
makes  a  great  part  of  the  language  of  savages,  and 
therefore  they  are  more  expert  in  the  use  of  natural 
signs  than  the  civilized. 

The  language  of  dumb  persons  is  mostly  formed  of 
natural  signs  ;  and  they  are  all  great  adepts  in  this 
language  of  nature.  All  that  we  call  action  and  pro- 
nunciation, in  the  most  perfect  orator,  and  the  most 
admired  actor,  is  nothing  else  but  superadding  the  lan- 
guage of  nature  to  the  language  of  articulate  sounds. 
The  pantomimes  among  the  Romans  carried  it  to  the 
highest  pitch  of  perfection.  For  they  could  act  parts 
of  comedies  and  tragedies  in  dumb-show,  so  as  to  be 
understood,  not  only  by  those  who  were  accustomed  to 
this  entertainment,  but  by  all  the  strangers  that  came 
to  Rome,  from  all  the  corners  of  the  earth. 

For  it  may  be  observed  of  this  natural  language, 
and  nothing  more  clearly  demonstrates  it  to  be  a  part 
of  the  human  constitution,  that  although  it  requires 
practice  and  study  to  enable  a  man  to  express  his  senti- 
ments by  it  in  the  most  perfect  manner;  yet  it  requires 
neither  study  nor  practice  in  the  spectator  to  understand 
it.  The  knowledge  of  it  was  before  latent  in  the  mind, 
and  we  no  sooner  see  it,  than  we  immediately  recognize 
it,  as  we  do  an  acquaintance  whom  we  had  long  forgot, 
and  could  not  have  described  ;  but  no  sooner  do  we  see 
him,  than  we  know  for  certain  that  he  is  (he  \ery  man. 

This  knowledge,  in  all  mankind,  of  the  natural  signs 
of  men's  thoughts  and  sentiments,  is  indeed  so  like  to 
reminiscence,  that  it  seems  to  have  led  Pluto  to  con- 
ceive all  human  knowledge  to  be  of  that  kind. 

It  is  not  by  reasoning,  that  all  mankind  know,  that 
an  open  countenance^  and  a  placid  eye,  is  a  sign  of 


OF  THE  NATURE  OF  A  CONTRACT.  SSi* 

amity  ;  that  a  contracted  brow,  and  a  fierce  look,  is 
the  sign  of  anger.  It  is  not  from  reason  that  we 
learn  to  know  the  natural  si.g;ns  of  consenting  and  re- 
fusing, of  atBrming  and  denying,  of  threatening  and 
supplicating. 

No  man  can  perceive  any  necessary  connection  be- 
tween the  signs  of  such  operations,  and  the  things  sig- 
nilied  by  them.  But  we  are  so  formed  by  the  Author 
of  our  nature,  that  the  operations  themselves  become 
visible,  as  it  were,  by  their  natural  signs.  This  knowl- 
edge resembles  reminiscence,  in  this  respect,  that  it  is 
immediate.  We  form  the  conclusion  with  great  assur- 
ance, ^vitliout  knowing  any  premises  from  which  it 
may  be  drawn  by  reasoning. 

It  would  lead  us  too  far  from  the  intention  of  the 
present  enquiry,  to  consider  more  particularly,  in  what 
degree  the  social  intercourse  is  natural,  and  a  part  of 
our  constitution  ;  how  far  it  is  of  human  invention. 

It  is  sufficient  to  observe,  that  this  intercourse  of 
human  minds,  by  which  their  thoughts  and  sentiments 
are  exchanged,  and  their  souls  mingle  together,  as  it 
were,  is  common  to  the  whole  species  from  infancy. 

Like  our  other  powers,  its  first  beginnings  are  weak, 
and  scarcely  perceptible.  But  it  is  a  certain  fact,  that 
we  can  perceive  some  communication  of  sentimcDts 
between  the  nurse  and  her  nursling,  before  it  is  a 
month  old.  And  I  doubt  not,  but  that,  if  both  had 
grown  out  of  the  earth,  and  had  never  seen  another 
human  face,  they  would  be  able  in  a  few  years  to  coa» 
verse  together. 

There  appears  indeed  to  be  some  degree  of  social  in- 
tercourse among  brute  animals,  and  between  some  of 
them  and  man.  A  dog  exults  in  the  caresses  of  his 
master,  and  is  humbled  at  his  displeasure.  But  there 
are  two  operations  of  the  social  kind,  of  which  the 
brute  animals  seem  to  be  altogether  incapable.  They 
VOJi.  lY.  60 


390  ESSAY     Y. 

can  neither  j)lif;ht  ihclv  veraci(y  by  tesliuiony,  nor 
their  Gdelity  by  any  engagenipnt  or  promise.  If  na- 
ture Iiad  made  them  capable  of  these  operations,  they 
would  liave  had  a  language  to  express  them  by,  as  man 
has  :  but  of  this  we  see  no  appearance. 

A  fox  is  said  to  use  stratagems,  but  he  cannot  lie; 
because  he  cannot  give  his  testimony,  or  plight  his  ve- 
racity. A  dog  is  said  to  be  faithful  ro  his  master ;  but 
no  more  is  meant  but  that  he  is  affectionate,  for  he 
never  came  under  any  engagement.  I  see  no  evidence 
that  any  brute  animal  is  capable  of  either  giving  testi- 
mony, or  making  a  promise. 

A  dumb  man  cannot  speak  any  more  than  a  fox  or  a 
dog ;  but  he  can  give  his  testimony  by  signs  as  early 
in  life  as  other  men  can  do  by  words.  He  knows  what 
a  lie  is  as  early  as  other  men,  and  hates  it  as  much. 
He  can  plight  his  faith,  and  is  sensible  of  the  obliga- 
tion of  a  promise  or  contract. 

It  is  therefore  a  prerogative  of  man,  that  he  can  com- 
municate his  knowledge  of  facts  by  testimony,  and  en- 
ter into  engagements  by  promise  or  contract.  God 
has  given  him  these  powers  by  apart  of  his  constitu- 
tion, which  distinguishes  him  from  all  brute  animals. 
And  whether  they  are  original  powers,  or  resolvable 
into  other  original  powers,  it  is  evident  that  they  spring 
up  in  the  human  mind  at  an  early  period  of  life,  and 
are  found  in  every  individual  of  the  species,  whether 
savage  or  civilized. 

These  prerogative  powers  of  man.  like  all  his  other 
powers,  must  be  given  for  some  end,  and  for  a  good 
end  And  if  we  consider  a  little  further  the  economy 
of  nature,  in  relation  to  this  part  of  the  human  con- 
stitution, we  shall  perceive  the  wisdom  of  nature  in  the 
structure  of  it,  and  discover  clearly  our  duty  in  conse- 
qnencc  of  it. 


OF  THE  NATURE  OF  A  CONTRACT.       39 1 

It  is  evident,  in  the  first  place,  that  if  no  credit  was 
given  to  testimony,  if  there  was  no  reliance  upon  prom- 
ises, they  would  answer  no  end  at  all,  not  even  that  of 
deceiving. 

2dly,  Supposing  men  disposed  hy  some  principle  in 
their  nature  to  rely  on  declarations  and  promises,  yet 
if  men  found  in  experience,  that  there  was  no  fidelity 
on  the  other  part  in  making  and  in  keeping  them,  no 
man  of  common  understanding  would  trust  to  them, 
and  so  they  would  hecome  useless. 

Hence  it  appears,  3dly,  that  this  power  of  giving 
testimony,  and  of  promising,  can  answer  no  end  in  so- 
ciefy,  unless  there  be  a  considerable  degree,  both  of 
fidelity  on  the  one  part,  and  of  trust  on  the  other. 
These  two  must  stand  or  fall  together,  and  oncofihem 
cannot  possibly  subsist  without  the  other. 

ithly,  It  may  be  observed,  that  fidelity  in  declara- 
tions and  promises,  and  its  counterpart,  trust  and  reli- 
ance upon  them,  form  a  system  of  social  intercourse, 
the  most  amiable,  the  most  useful,  that  can  be  among 
men.  Without  fidelity  and  trust,  there  can  be  no  hu- 
man society.  There  never  was  a  society,  even  of  sava- 
ges, nay,  even  of  robbers  or  pirates,  in  which  there  was 
not  a  great  degree  of  veracity  and  of  fidelity  among 
themselves.  "Without  it,  man  would  be  the  most  un- 
social animal  that  God  has  made.  His  stale  would  be 
in  reality  what  Hobbcs  conceived  the  slate  of  nature  to 
be,  a  state  of  war,  of  every  man  against  every  man^ 
nor  could  this  war  ever  terminate  in  peace. 

It  may  be  observed,  in  the  fifth  place,  that  man  is 
evidently  made  for  living  in  society.  His  social  af- 
fections show  this  as  evidently,  as  that  the  eye  was 
made  for  seeing.  His  social  operations,  particulaily 
those  of  testifying  and  promising,  make  it  no  less  evi- 
dent. 

From  these  observations  it  follows,  that  if  no  provis- 
ion were  made  by  nature,  to  engage  men  to  fidelity  in 


39^  ESSAY    >. 

declarations  and  promises,  human  nature  would  be  a 
contradiction  to  iiself,  made  for  an  end,  jet  without 
the  necessary  means  of  attaining  it.  As  if  the  spe- 
cies had  been  furnished  with  good  eyes,  but  without 
the  pouer  of  opening  their  eye  lids.  There  are  no 
blunders  of  this  kind  in  the  works  of  God.  AVherever 
there  is  an  end  intended,  the  means  are  admirably  fit- 
ted for  the  attainment  of  it;  and  no  we  find  it  to  be  in 
the  ease  before  us. 

For  we  see  that  children,  as  soon  as  they  arc  capable 
of  understanding  declarations  and  promises,  are  led  by 
their  constitution  to  rely  upon  them.  Tliey  are  no  less 
led  by  constitution  to  veracity  and  candour,  on  their 
own  part.  Nor  do  they  ever  deviate  from  this  road  of 
truth  and  sincerity,  until  corrupted  by  bad  example 
and  bad  company.  This  disposition  to  sincerity  in 
themselves,  and  to  giee  credit  to  other-:,  whether  we 
call  it  inslinct,  or  whatever  name  we  give  it,  must  be 
considered  as  the  effect  of  Iheir  constitution. 

So  that  the  tilings  essential  to  human  society,  I 
mean  good  faith  on  the  one  part,  and  trust  on  the 
other,  are  formed  by  nature  in  the  minds  of  children, 
before  they  are  capable  of  knowing  their  utility,  or 
being  inlluenced  by  considerations  either  of  duty  or  in- 
terest. 

When  we  grow  up  so  far  as  to  have  the  conception 
of  a  right  and  a  wrong  in  conduct,  the  turpitude  of 
lying,  faiscliood,  and  dishonesty,  is  discerned,  not  by 
any  train  of  reasoning,  but  by  an  immediate  percep- 
tion. For  we  see  that  every  man  disapproves  it  in 
others,  even  those  who  are  conscious  of  it  in  them- 
selves. 

Every  man  thinks  himself  injured  and  ill  used,  and 
feels  resentment,  when  he  is  imposed  upon  by  it.  Eve- 
ry man  takes  it  as  a  reproach  when  falsehood  is  im- 
puted to  liini.    These  are  the  clearest  evidences,  that 


OF   THE    NATURE    O*'   A    CONTRACT.  393 

all  men  disapprove  of  falsehood,  when  their  judgment 
is  not  biassed. 

I  know  of  no  evidence  that  has  been  ,^iven  of  any 
nation  so  rude,  as  not  to  have  these  sentiments.  It  is 
certain  that  dumb  people  have  them,  and  di;>covertheni 
about  the  same  period  of  life,  in  which  (hey  appear  in 
those  who  speak.  And  it  may  reasonably  be  thought, 
that  dumb  persons,  at  that  lime  of  life,  have  had  as  lit- 
tle advantage,  with  regard  to  morals,  from  their  edu- 
cation, as  the  greatest  savages. 

Every  man  come  to  jears  of  reflection,  when  he 
pledges  his  veracity  or  fidelity,  thinks  he  has  a  right 
to  be  credited,  and  is  affronted  if  he  is  not.  But  there 
cannot  be  a  shadow  of  right  to  be  credited,  unless  there 
be  an  obligation  to  good  faith.  For  right  on  one  hand, 
necessarily  implies  obligation  on  the  other. 

When  we  see  that  in  the  most  savage  state,  that  ever 
was  known  of  the  human  race,  men  have  always  lived 
in  societies,  greater  or  less,  this  of  itself  is  a  proof 
from  fact,  that  they  have  had  that  sense  of  their  obli- 
gation to  fidelity,  without  which  no  human  society  can 
subsist. 

From  these  observations,  I  think,  it  appears  very  ev- 
ident, that  as  fidelity  on  one  part,  and  trust  on  the 
other,  are  essential  to  that  intercourse  of  men,  which 
we  call  human  society  j  so  the  Author  of  our  nature 
has  made  wise  provision  for  perpetuating  them  among 
men,  in  that  degree  that  is  necessary  to  human  society, 
in  all  the  different  periods  of  human  life,  and  in  all 
the  stages  of  human  improvement  and  degeneracy. 

In  early  years,  we  have  an  innate  disposition  to 
them.  In  riper  years,  we  feel  our  obligation  to  fideli- 
ty as  much  as  to  any  moral  duty  whatsoever. 

Nor  is  it  necessary  to  mention  the  collateral  induce- 
ments to  this  virtue,  from  considerations  of  prudence, 
which  are  obvious  to  every  man  that  reflects.     Such  as, 


39*  ESSAY    V. 

that  it  crcafcs  trust,  the  most  eflectual  engine  of  hu- 
man power;  <hat  it  requires  no  artifice  or  conceal- 
ment; dreads  no  detection;  that  it  inspires  coui-age 
and  niagnaniniit}'.  and  is  tlie  natural  ally  of  every  vir- 
tue ;  so  tlia(  there  is  no  virtue  whatsoever,  to  which 
our  natural  ohligation  appears  more  strong  or  more 
apparent. 

An  ohservation  or  two,  with  regard  to  the  nature  of 
a  contract,  will  he  sufficient  for  the  present  purpose. 

If  is  ohvious  that  the  prestation  promised  must  he 
understood  by  both  parties.  One  party  engages  to 
do  such  a  thing,  another  accepts  of  this  engagement. 
An  engagement  to  do,  one  does  not  know  what,  can 
neither  be  made  nor  accepted.  It  is  no  less  obvious, 
thai  a  contract  is  a  voluntary  transaction. 

But  it  ought  to  be  observed,  that  the  will,  which  is 
essential  to  a  contract,  is  only  a  will  to  engage,  or  to 
become  bound.  We  must  beware  of  confounding  this 
will,  with  a  will  to  perform  what  we  have  engaged. 
The  last  can  signify  nothing  else  than  an  intention  and 
fixed  purpose  to  do  what  we  have  engaged  to  do.  The 
will  to  become  bound,  and  to  confer  a  right  upon  the 
other  party,  is  indeed  the  very  essence  of  a  contract; 
but  the  purpose  of  fulfilling  our  engagement,  is  no  part 
of  the  contract  at  all. 

A  purpose  is  a  solitary  act  of  mind,  which  lays  no 
obligation  on  the  person,  nor  confers  any  right  on  anoth- 
er. A  fraudulent  person  may  contract  with  a  fixed 
purpose  of  not  performing  his  engagement.  But  this 
purpose  makes  no  change  with  regard  to  his  obligation. 
He  is  as  much  bound  as  the  honest  oian,  who  contracts 
with  a  fixed  purpose  of  performing. 

As  the  eonlract  is  binding,  without  any  regard  to 
the  purpose,  so  there  may  be  a  purpose  without  any 
contract.  A  purpose  is  no  contract,  even  when  it  is 
declared  to  the  person  for  whose  benefit  it  is  iotended-. 


OF   THE    NATURE    OF    A    CONTRACT.  395 

I  uiay  say  to  a  man,  I  intend  to  do  such  a  thing  for 
your  benefit,  but  I  come  under  no  engagement.  Every 
man  understand!)  the  meaning  of  this  speech^  and  sees 
no  contradiction  in  it :  whereas,  if  a  purpose  declared 
were  (he  same  thing  with  a  contract,  such  a  speech 
would  be  a  contradiction,  and  would  be  the  same  as  if 
one  should  say,  I  promise  to  do  such  a  thing,  but  I  do 
not  promise. 

All  this  is  so  plain  to  every  man  of  common  sense, 
that  it  would  have  been  unnecessary  to  be  mentioned, 
had  not  so  acute  a  man  as  Mr.  Hume  grounded  some 
of  the  contradictions  he  finds  in  a  contract,  upon  con- 
founding a  will  to  engage  in  a  contract  with  a  will  or 
purpose  to  perform  the  engagement. 

I  come  now  to  consider  the  speculations  of  that  au- 
thor with  regard  to  contracts. 

In  order  to  support  a  favourite  notion  of  his  own, 
that  justice  is  not  a  natural,  but  an  artificial  virtue, 
and  that  it  derives  its  whole  merit  from  its  utility,  he 
has  laid  down  some  principles  which,  I  think,  have  a 
tendency  to  subvert  all  faith  and  fair  dealing  among 
mankind. 

In  the  third  volume  of  the  Treatise  of  Human  Na- 
ture, p.  40.  he  lays  it  down  as  an  undoubted  maxim, 
that  no  action  can  be  virtuous  or  morally  good,  unless 
there  be,  in  human  nature,  some  motive  to  produce  it, 
distinct  from  its  morality.  Let  us  apply  this  undoubt- 
ed maxim  in  an  instance  or  two.  If  a  man  keeps  his 
word,  from  this  sole  motive,  that  he  ought  to  do  so, 
this  is  no  virtuous  or  morally  good  action.  If  a  man 
pays  his  debt,  from  this  motive,  that  justice  requires 
this  of  him,  this  is  no  virtuous  or  morally  good  action. 
If  a  judge  or  an  arbiter  gives  a  sentence  in  a  cause, 
from  no  other  motive  but  regard  to  justice,  this  is  no 
virtuous  or  morally  good  action.     These  appear  to  me 


396  lasSAY  V. 

to  be  shocking  absurdities,  which  no  mctaphj'sical  sub- 
iWiy  can  ever  jusfity. 

Nothing  i^  more  evident  than  that  every  human  ac- 
tion takes  its  denomination  and  its  moral  nature  from 
the  morive  from  which  it  is  performed.  That  is  a  be- 
nevolent action,  which  is  done  from  benevolence.  That 
is  an  act  of  gratitude,  which  is  done  from  a  sentiment 
of  graiitiide.  That  is  an  act  of  obedience  to  God, 
^vhich  is  done  from  a  regard  to  his  command.  And, 
in  general,  that  is  an  act  of  virtue  which  is  done  from 
a  regard  lo  virtue. 

VirUious  actions  are  so  far  from  needing  other  mo- 
tives, besides  their  being  virtuous,  to  give  them  merit, 
thai  their  merit  is  then  greatest  and  most  conspicu- 
ous, when  every  motive  that  can  be  put  in  the  opposite 
scale  is  outweighed  by  the  sole  consideration  of  their 
being  our  duty. 

This  maxim,  therefore,  of  Mr.  Hume,  that  no  action 
can  be  virtuous  or  morally  good,  unless  there  be  some 
motive  to  produce  it,  distinct  from  its  morality,  is  so  far 
from  being  undoubtedly  true,  that  it  is  undoubtedly 
false.  It  was  never,  so  far  as  I  know,  maintained  by 
any  moralist,  but  by  the  Epicureans  ;  and  it  savours  of 
the  very  dregs  of  that  sect.  It  agrees  well  with  the 
principles  of  those  who  maintained,  that  virtue  is  an 
empty  name,  and  that  it  is  entitled  to  no  regard,  but 
in  as  far  as  it  ministers  to  pleasure  or  proRt. 

I  believe  the  author  of  this  maxim  acted  upon  better 
moral  principles  than  he  wrote  ;  and  that  what  Cicero 
says  of  Epicurus,  may  be  applied  to  him  :  Redarguitm^ 
ipse  a  sese,  vincuntnrque  soripta  ejus  prohilatc  ipsius  et 
moribus,  et  nt  aJii  exhtimantur  dicere  melius  quamfd- 
cere,  sic  ille  mihi  videtur  facere  melius  quam  dicere. 

But  let  us  see  how  he  applies  this  maxim  to  contracts. 
I  give  you  his  words  from  the  place  formerly  cited.  •♦  I 
suppose/*  says  he,  **  a  person  to  have  lent  me  a  sum 


01?   THE    NATURE    OF   A    CONTRACT.  397 

•f  money,  on  condition  that  it  be  restored  in  a  few  days  ; 
and,  after  the  expiration  of  tlie  term  agreed  on,  he  de- 
mands the  sum.  I  ask.  what  reason  or  motive  have 
I  to  restore  the  money?  It  will  perhaps  be  said,  that 
my  regard  to  justice  and  abhorrence  of  villany  and 
knavery,  are  sufficient  reasons  for  me,  if  I  liave  tlie 
least  grain  of  honesty,  or  sense  of  duty  and  obligation. 
And  this  answer  no  doubt  is  just  and  satisfactory  to 
man  in  his  civilized  state,  and  when  trained  up  accord- 
ing to  a  certain  discipline  and  education.  But,  in  his 
rude  and  more  natural  condition,  if  you  are  pleas- 
ed to  call  such  a  condition  natural,  this  answer  would 
be  rejected  as  perfectly  unintelligible  and  sophistical." 

The  doctrine  we  are  taught  in  this  passage  is  this, 
that  though  a  man,  iu  a  civilized  state,  and  when  train- 
ed up  according  to  a  certain  discipline  and  education, 
may  have  a  regard  to  justice,  and  an  abhorrence  of 
villany  and  knavery,  and  some  sense  of  duty  and  obliga- 
tion ;  yet  to  a  man,  in  his  rude  and  more  natural  con- 
dition, the  considerations  of  honesty,  justice,  duty, 
and  obligation,  will  be  perfectly  unintelligible  and  so- 
phistical. And  this  is  brought  as  an  argument  to 
show,  that  justice  is  not  a  natural,  but  an  artificial 
■virtue. 

I  shall  offer  some  observations  on  this  argument. 

1st,  Although  it  may  be  true,  that  what  is  unintelli- 
gible to  man  in  his  rude  state  may  be  intelligible  to 
liim  in  his  civilized  state,  I  cannot  conceive,  that  what 
is  sophistical  in  the  rude  state  should  change  its  nature, 
and  become  just  reasoning,  when  man  is  more  im- 
proved. What  is  a  sophism,  will  always  be  so;  nor 
can  any  change  in  the  state  of  the  person  who  judges, 
make  that  to  be  just  reasoning  which  before  was  so- 
phistical. Mr.  Hume's  argument  requires,  that  to 
man  iu  his  rude  state,  the  motives  to  justice  and  hon- 
esty should  not  only  appear  to  be  sophistical,  but 

vox.  IV,  51 


SdH  KSSAT   V. 

should  really  be  so.  If  (he  motives  were  just  in  Ihem- 
selves,  I  hen  justice  would  be  a  natural  virtue,  allhuugh 
the  rude  man,  by  an  error  of  his  judi;;ment,  thought 
otherwise.  But  if  justice  be  not  a  natural  virtue,  whieh 
is  the  point  Mr.  Hume  intends  to  prove,  then  every  ar- 
gument, by  which  man  in  his  natural  state  may  be  urged 
to  it,  must  be  a  sophism  in  reality,  and  not  in  appear- 
ance only ;  and  the  effect  of  discipline  and  education  in 
the  civilized  state  can  only  be  to  make  those  motives 
to  justice  appear  just  and  satisfactory,  which,  in  theii^ 
own  nature,  are  sophistical. 

2dly,  It  were  to  be  wished,  that  this  ingenious  author 
had  shown  us,  why  that  state  of  roan,  in  which  the  obli- 
gation to  honesty,  and  an  abhorrence  of  villany,  appear 
perfectly  unintelligible  and  sophistical,  should  be  his 
more  natural  state. 

It  is  the  i*Jature  of  human  society  to  be  progressive, 
as  much  as  it  is  the  nature  of  the  individual.  In  the 
individual,  the  siale  of  infancy  leads  to  that  of  child- 
hood, childhood  to  youth,  youth  to  manhood,  and  man- 
hood to  old  age.  If  one  should  say,  that  the  state  of 
infancy  is  a  more  natural  state  than  that  of  manhood 
or  of  old  age,  I  am  apt  to  think,  that  this  would  be 
words  without  any  meaning.  In  like  manner,  in  hu- 
inan  society,  there  is  a  natural  progress  from  rudeness 
to  civilization,  from  ignorance  to  knowledge.  What 
period  of  this  progress  shall  we  call  man's  natural  state  ? 
To  me  they  appear  all  equally  natural.  Every  slate  of 
society  is  equally  natural  wherein  men  have  access  lo 
exert  their  natural  powers  about  their  proper  objects, 
and  lo  improve  those  powers  by  the  means  which  their 
situation  affords. 

Mr.  Hume,  indeed,  shows  some  timidity  in  affirming 
the  rude  slate  to  be  the  more  natural  state  of  man ;  and, 
therefore,  adds  this  qualifying  parenthesis,  If  you  ar$ 
pleased  to  call  such  a  condilion  natural. 


OF  THE  NATURE  OF  A  TONTRACT.  399 

But  it  ought  to  be  observed,  that  if  the  premises  of 
ids  argument  be  weakened  by  this  clause,  the  same 
iveakness  must  be  communicated  to  the  conclusion ; 
and  (he  conclusion,  according  to  the  rules  of  good  rea- 
soning, ought  to  be,  that  justice  is  an  artiliciai  virtue, 
if  you  be  pleased  to  call  it  artificial. 

3dly,  It  were  likewise  to  be  wished,  that  Mr.  Hume 
had  shown  from  fact,  (hat  there  ever  did  exist  such  a 
state  of  man  as  that  which  he  calls  his  more  natural 
state.  It  is  a  state  wherein  a  man  borrows  a  sum  of 
money,  on  (he  condidon  that  he  is  to  restore  it  in  a 
few  days;  yet  when  the  time  of  payment  comes,  his 
obligation  to  repay  what  he  borrowed  is  perfectly  un- 
intelligible and  sophis  ical.  It  would  have  been  pvop- 
er  to  have  given  at  least  a  single  insfance  of  some 
tribe  of  the  human  race  that  was  found  to  be  in  this 
natural  state.  If  no  such  instance  can  be  given,  it  is 
probably  a  state  merely  imaginary;  like  that  state, 
which  some  have  imagined,  wherein  men  were  Ourang 
Outangs.  or  wherein  they  were  fishes  with  tails. 

Indeed,  such  a  state  seems  impossible.  That  a  man 
should  lend  without  any  conception  of  his  having  a 
right  to  be  repaid ;  or  that  a  man  should  borrow  on 
the  condition  of  paying  in  a  few  days,  and  yet  have  no 
conception  of  his  obligation,  seems  to  me  to  involve  a 
contradiction. 

I  grant,  that  a  humane  man  may  lend  without  any 
expectation  of  being  repaid ;  but  that  he  should  lend 
without  any  conception  of  a  right  to  be  repaid,  is  a 
contradiction.  In  like  manner,  a  fraudulent  man 
may  borrow  without  an  intention  of  paying  back;  but 
that  he  should  borrow,  while  an  obligation  to  repay  is 
perfectly  uniutelligihle  to  him,  this  is  a  contradicton. 

The  same  author,  in  his  Enquiry  into  the  Principles 
of  Morals,  sect.  3.  treating  of  the  same  subject,  has 
the  following  note: 


400  ESSAT     V. 

*'  'Tis  evident,  ihnt  the  will  or  consent  alone  never 
transfei's  property,  nor  causes  the  obligation  of  a  prom- 
ise, (for  the  same  reasoning  extends  to  both)  but  tho 
will  must  be  expressed  by  words  or  signs,  in  order  to 
impose  a  lie  upon  any  man.  The  expression  being 
once  brought  in  as  subservient  to  the  will,  soon  be- 
comes the  principal  part  of  the  promise  ;  nor  will  a 
man  be  less  bound  by  his  word,  though  he  ^ecretly  give 
a  diOerent  direction  to  his  intention,  and  with  hold  the 
assent  of  his  mind.  But  though  the  expression  makes, 
on  most  occasions,  the  whole  of  the  promise ;  yet  it 
docs  not  always  so;  and  one  who  should  make  use  of 
any  expression,  of  which  he  knows  not  the  meaning, 
and  which  he  uses  without  any  sense  of  the  consequen- 
ces, would  not  certainly  be  bound  by  it.  Nay,  though 
lie  know  its  meaning;  yet  if  he  uses  it  in  jest  only, 
and  with  such  signs  as  show  evidently  he  lias  no  se- 
rious intention  of  binding  himself,  he  would  not  be  un- 
der any  obligation  of  performance  ;  but  it  is  necessary 
that  the  words  be  a  pesfeet  expression  of  the  will,  with- 
out any  contrary  signs.  Nay,  even  tliis  we  must  not 
carry  so  far  as  to  imagine,  that  one  whom,  from  our 
quickness  of  understanding,  we  conjecture  to  have  an 
intention  of  deceiving  us,  is  not  bound  by  his  expres- 
sion or  verbal  promise,  if  we  accept  of  it,  but  must 
limit  this  conclusion  to  those  eases,  where  the  signs 
are  of  a  different  nature  from  those  of  deceit.  All  these 
contradictions  are  easily  accounted  for,  if  justice  arises 
entirely  from  its  usefulness  to  society,  but  will  never 
be  explained  on  any  other  hypothesis." 

Here  we  have  the  opinion  of  (his  grave  moralist  and 
acute  metaphysician,  that  the  principles  of  honesty 
and  fidelity  are  at  bottom  a  bundle  of  contradictions. 
This  is  one  part  of  his  moral  system  which,  I  cannot 
lielp  thinking,  borders  upon  licentiousness.  It  surely 
lends  to  give  a  very  unfavourable  notion  of  that  cardi- 


OF   THE    NATURE    OF   A    CONTRACT.  401 

nal  virtue,  without  which  no  man  has  a  title  to  be  call- 
ed an  honest  man.  What  regard  can  a  man  pay 
to  the  virtue  of  fidelity,  who  believes  that  its  essential 
rules  contradict  each  other?  Can  a  man  be  bound  by 
contradictory  rules  of  conduct  ?  No  more,  surely, 
than  he  can  be  bound  to  believe  contradictory  principles. 

He  tells  us,  '<  That  all  these  contradictions  are  easi- 
ly accounted  for,  if  justice  arises  entirely  from  its  use- 
fulness to  society,  but  will  never  be  explained  upon 
any  other  hvpothesis." 

I  know  not  indeed  what  is  meant  by  accounting  for 
contradictions,  or  explaining  them.  I  apprehend, 
that  no  hypothesis  can  make  that  which  is  a  contra- 
diction to  be  no  contradiction.  However,  without 
attempting  to  account  for  these  contradictions  upon 
his  own  hypothesis,  he  pronounces,  in  a  decisive  tone, 
that  they  will  never  be  explained  upon  any  other  hy- 
pothesis. 

What  if  it  shall  appear,  that  the  contradictions  men- 
tioned in  this  paragraph,  do  all  take  their  rise  from 
two  capital  mistakes  the  author  has  made  with  regard 
to  the  nature  of  promises  and  contracts ;  and  if,  when 
these  are  coi  reeted,  there  shall  not  appear  a  shadow  of 
contradiction  in  the  cases  put  by  him  ? 

The  first  mistake  is,  that  a  promise  is  some  kind  of 
will,  consent,  or  intention,  which  may  be  expressed, 
or  may  not  be  expressed.  This  is  to  mistake  the  na- 
ture of  a  promise  ;  for  no  will,  no  consent  or  intention 
that  is  not  expressed,  is  a  promise.  A  promise,  being 
a  social  transaction  between  two  parties,  without  being 
expressed  can  have  no  existence. 

Another  capital  mistake  that  runs  through  the  pas- 
sage cited  is,  that  this  will,  consent,  or  intention, 
which  makes  a  promise,  is  a  will  or  intention  to  per- 
form what  we  promise.  Every  man  knows  that  there 
may  be  a  fraudulent  promise,   made  without  intention 


*02  ESSAY    V. 

of  performing.  But  the  intention  to  perforra  the  prom- 
ise, or  not  to  perforin  it,  whether  the  intention  be 
known  to  the  other  party  or  not,  makes  no  part  of  the 
promise,  it  is  a  solitary  act  of  the  mind,  and  can  neith- 
er constitute  nor  dissolve  an  obIi,(;ation.  What  makes 
a  promise  is,  that  it  be  expressed  to  the  other  party 
^vith  understanding,  and  wiih  an  intention  to  become 
bound,  and  that  it  be  accepted  by  him. 

Carrying  these  remarks  along  with  us,  let  us  review 
the  passage  cited. 

1st,  He  observes,  that  the  will  or  consent  alone  does 
not  cause  the  obligation  of  a  promise,  but  it  must  be 
expressed. 

I  answer:  the  will  not  expressed  is  not  a  promise; 
and  is  it  a  contradiction,  that  that  which  is  not  a  prom- 
ise should  not  cause  the  obligation  of  a  promise?  He 
goes  on:  the  exprission  being  once  brought  in  as  sub- 
servient to  the  will,  soon  becomes  a  principal  part  of 
the  promise.  Here  it  is  supposed,  that  the  expression 
was  not  originally  a  constituent  part  of  the  promise, 
but  it  soon  becomes  such.  It  is  brought  in  to  aid  and 
be  subservient  to  the  promise  which  was  made  before 
by  the  will.  If  Mr.  Hume  had  considered,  that  it  is  the 
expression  accompanied  with  understanding  and  will  to 
become  bound,  that  constitutes  a  promihe^  he  would 
never  have  said,  that  the  expression  soon  becomes  a 
part,  and  is  brought  in  as  subservient. 

He  adds,  nor  will  a  man  be  less  bound  by  his  word, 
though  he  secretly  gives  a  ditferent  direction  to  his  in- 
tention, and  with-holds  the  assent  of  his  mind. 

The  case  here  put,  needs  some  explication.  Either 
it  means,  that  the  man  knowingly  and  voluntarily 
gives  his  word,  without  any  intention  of  giving  his  word, 
or  that  he  gives  it  without  the  intention  of  keeping  it, 
and  performing  what  he  promises.  The  last  of  these 
is  indeed  a  possible  case^  and  is,  I  apprehend,  what 


OF  THE  NATURE   OF  A  CONTRACT.  405 

Mp  Hume  means.  But  the  intention  of  keeping 
his  promise  is  no  part  of  tiie  promise,  nor  does  it  in 
the  least  aifeet  the  obligation  of  it;  as  we  have  often  ob- 
served. 

If  the  author  meant  that  the  man  may  knowingly 
and  volunlarilygive  his  word,  without  the  intention 
of  giving  his  word,  this  is  impossible  :  for  such  is  the 
nature  of  all  social  acts  of  the  mind,  that,  as  they 
cannot  be«  without  being  expressed,  so  they  cannot  be 
expressed  knowingly  and  willingly,  but  they  must  be. 
If  a  man  puts  a  question  knowingly  and  willingly,  it 
is  impossible  that  he  should  at  the  same  time  will  not 
to  put  it.  If  he  gives  a  command  knowingly  and 
'willingly,  it  is  impossible  that  he  should  at  the  same 
time  will  not  to  give  it.  We  cannot  have  contrary 
wills  at  the  same  time.  And,  in  like  manner,  if  a  maa 
knowingly  and  willingly  becomes  bound  by  a  promise, 
it  is  impossible  that  he  should  at  the  same  time  will 
not  to  be  bound. 

To  suppose,  therefore,  that  when  a  man  knowingly 
and  willingly  gives  his  word,  he  with-holds  that  will 
and  intention  which  makes  a  promise,  is  indeed  a  con- 
tradiction ;  but  the  contradiction  is  not  in  the  nature 
of  the  promise,  but  in  the  case  supposed  by  Mr.  Hume. 

He  adds,  though  the  expression,  for  the  most  part, 
makes  the  whole  of  the  promise,  it  does  not  always  so. 

I  answer,  that  tfce  expression,  if  it  is  not  accom- 
panied with  understanding,  and  will  to  engage,  never 
makes  a  promise.  The  author  here  assumes  a  postu- 
late, which  nobody  ever  granted,  and  which  can  only 
be  grounded  on  the  impossible  supposition  made  in 
the  former  sentence.  And  as  there  can  be  no  promise 
without  knowledge,  and  will  to  engage,  is  it  marvel- 
lous that  words  which  are  not  understood,  or  words 
spoken  in  jest,  and  without  any  intention  to  become 
bound,  should  not  have  the  effect  of  a  promise  ? 


404  ESSAY   T. 

The  last  case  put  by  Mr.  Hume,  is  that  of  a  man 
^ho  promises  fraudulently  with  an  intention  not  to 
perform,  and  whose  fraudulent  inteution  is  discovered 
by  the  other  party,  who,  notwithstanding,  accepts  the 
promise.  He  is  bound,  says  Mr.  Hume,  by  his  verbal 
promise.  Undoubtedly  he  is  bound,  because  an  inten- 
tion not  to  perform  the  promise,  whether  known  to  the 
other  party  or  not,  makes  no  part  of  the  promise,  nor 
affects  its  obligation,  as  has  been  repeatedly  observed. 

From  what  has  been  said,  I  think  it  evident,  tbat  to 
one  who  attends  to  the  nature  of  a  promise  or  contract, 
there  is  not  the  least  appearance  of  contradiction  ia 
the  principles  of  morality  relating  to  contracts. 

It  would  indeed  appear  wonderful,  that  such  a  raau 
as  Mr.  Hume  should  have  imposed  upon  himself  in  so 
plain  a  matter^  if  we  did  not  see  frequent  instances  of 
ingenious  men,  whose  zeal  in  supporting  a  favourite 
hypothesis,  darkens  their  understanding,  and  hinders 
them  from  seeing  what  is  before  their  eyes. 


APPROBATION   IMPLIES    JUDGMENT.  40l> 

CHAP.  VII. 

THAT   MORAL  APPROBATION    IMPLIES  A  REAL  JUDGMENT. 

The  approbalion  of  good  actions,  and  disapproba- 
tion of  bad,  are  so  familiar  to  every  man  come  to 
years  of  understanding,  tbat  it  seems  strange  there 
should  be  an}'  dispute  about  their  nature. 

Whether  we  reflect  upon  our  own  conduct,  or  attend 
to  the  conduct  of  others  witli  Avhom  we  live,  or  of  whom 
we  hear  or  read,  we  cannot  help  approving  of  some 
things,  disapproving  of  others,  and  regarding  many  with 
perfect  indifterence. 

These  operations  of  our  minds  we  are  conscious  of 
every  day,  and  almost  every  hour  we  live.  Men  of  ripe 
understanding  are  capable  of  reflecting  upon  them,  and 
of  attending  to  what  passes  in  their  own  thoughts  on 
such  occasions ;  yet,  for  half  a  century,  it  has  been  a 
serious  dispute  among  philosophers,  what  this  appro- 
bation and  disapprobation  is,  whether  there  be  a  real 
judgment  included  in  it,  which,  like  all  other  judgments, 
must  be  true  or  false ;  or,  whether  it  include  no  more 
but  some  agreeable  or  uneasy  feeling,  in  the  person  who 
approves  or  disapproves. 

Mr.  Hume  observes  very  justly,  that  this  is  a  contro- 
versy started  of  late.  Before  the  modern  system  of 
ideas  and  impressions  was  introduced,  nothing  would 
have  appeared  more  absurd  than  to  say,  that  when  I 
condemn  a  man  for  what  he  has  done,  I  pass  no  judg- 
ment at  all  about  the  man,  but  only  express  some  unea- 
sy feeling  in  myself. 

Nor  did  the  new  system  produce  this  discovery  at 
once,  but  gradually,  by  several  steps,  according  as  its 
consequences  were  more  accurately  traced,  and  its  spir- 
it more  thoroughly  imbibed  by  successive  philogophers. 

VOL.  IV.  52 


'i06  r.ssAY  V. 

Des  Car(es  and  Mr.  Locke  y/ent  no  further  than  to 
maintain,  that  (he  secondary  qualiiies  of  hod,>,  heat 
and  cold,  sound,  colour,  tasie,  and  smell,  which  we 
perceive  and  judge  to  be  itj  the  external  object,  are 
rricrc  feelings  or  sensations  in  our  minds,  there  being 
nothing  in  bodies  themselves  to  which  these  names  can 
be  applied  ,•  and  that  the  office  of  the  external  senses 
is  not  to  judge  of  external  things,  but  only  to  give  us 
ideas  or  sensations,  from  which  we  are  by  reasoning  to 
deduce  the  existence  of  a  material  world  without  us,  as 
well  as  we  can. 

Arthur  Collier  and  bishop  Berkeley  discovered,  from 
the  same  principles,  that  the  primary,  as  well  as  the 
secondary  qualities  of  bodies,  such  as  extension,  figure^ 
solidity,  motion,  are  only  sensations  in  our  minds; 
and  therefore,  that  thei'e  is  no  material  world  without 
us  at  all. 

The  same  philosophy,  when  it  came  to  be  applied  to 
matters  of  taste,  discovered  that  beauty  and  deformity 
are  not  any  thing  in  the  objects,  to  which  men,  from  the 
beginning  of  the  world,  ascribed  them,  but  certain  feel- 
ings in  the  mind  of  the  spectator. 

The  next  step  was  an  easy  consequence  from  all  tlie 
preceding,  that  moral  approbation  and  disapprobation 
are  not  judgments,  which  must  be  true  or  false,  but 
barely,  agreeable  and  uneasy  feelings  or  sensations. 

Mr.  Hume  made  the  last  step  in  this  progress,  and 
crowned  the  system  by  what  he  calls  hia  hypothesis  }  to 
wit,  that  belief  is  more  properly  an  act  of  the  sensitive, 
than  of  the  cogitative  part  of  our  nature. 

Beyond  this,  I  think  no  man  can  go  in  this  track ;  sen- 
sation or  feeling  is  all,  and  what  is  left  to  the  cogita- 
tive part  of  our  nature,  I  am  not  able  to  comprehend. 

I  have  had  occasion  to  consider  each  of  these  para- 
doxes, excepting  that  which  relates  to  morals,  in  Es- 
says on  the  Intellectual  Powers  of  Man  ;  and,  though 
they  be  strictly  connected  with  each  other,  and  with 


APPROBATION    IMPLIES    JUDGMENT.  407 

the  system  which  has  produced  Uicm,  I  have  attempt- 
ed to  show,  that  they  are  inconsistent  with  just  notions 
of  our  intellectual  powers,  no  less  than  they  are  wilh 
the  common  sense  and  common  language  of  mankind. 
And  this,  I  think,  will  likewise  appear  with  regard  to 
the  conclusion  relating  to  morals ;  rit;.  That  moral 
approbation  is  only  an  agreeable  feeling,  and  not  a  real 
judgment. 

To -prevent  ambiguity  as  much  as  possible,  let  us 
attend  to  the  meaning  of  feeling  nm]  oi'  judgmenl. 
These  operations  of  the  mind,  perhaps,  cannot  be  logi- 
cally defined;  but  they  are  well  understood,  and  easily 
distinguished,  by  their  properties  and  adjuncts. 

Feeling,  or  sensation,  seems  to  be  the  lowest  degree 
of  animation  we  can  coneeive.  We  give  the  name  of 
animal  to  every  being  that  feels  pain  or  pleasure ;  and 
this  seems  to  be  the  boundary  between  the  inanimate 
and  animal  creation. 

We  know  no  being  of  so  low  a  rank  in  the  creation 
of  God,  as  to  possess  this  animal  power  only  without 
any  other. 

We  commonly  distinguish jfech'n^  from  thinldng,  be- 
cause it  hardly  deserves  the  name ;  and  though  it  be  in  a 
more  general  sense,  a  species  of  thought,  is  least  remov- 
ed from  the  passive  and  inert  state  of  things  inanimate. 
A  feeling  must  be  agreeable,  or  uneasy,  or  indiffer- 
ent. It  may  be  weak  or  strong.  It  is  expressed  in 
language  cilher  by  a  single  word,  or  by  such  a  con- 
texture of  words  as  may  be  the  subject  or  predicate  of 
a  proposition,  but  such  as  cannot  by  themselves  make 
a  proposition.  For  it  implies  neither  affirmation  nor 
negation;  and  therefore  cannot  have  the  qualities  of 
true  or  false,  which  distinguish  propositions  from  all 
other  forms  of  speech,  and  judgments  from  all  otjjer 
acts  of  the  mind. 

That  I  have  such  a  feeling,  is  indeed  an  affirmative 
proposition,  and  expresses  testimony  grounded  upon 


a08  ESSAY  V. 

an  intuitive  J  udi^inent.  But  tliei'eelingisonly  one  term 
of  this  proposilion  ;  and  it  can  only  make  a  propositiou 
when  joined  with  another  term,  by  a  verb  affirming  or 
denying. 

As  feeling  distinguishes  the  animal  nature  from  the 
inanimate;  so  judging  seems  to  distinguish  the  ration- 
al nature  from  the  merely  animal. 

Though  judgment  in  general  is  expressed  by  one 
word  in  language,  as  the  most  complex  operations  of 
the  mind  may  be;  yet  a  partieular  judgment  can  only 
be  expressed  by  a  sentence,  and  by  that  kind  of  sen- 
tence which  logicians  call  a  proposition,  in  which  there 
must  necessarily  be  a  verb  in  tlie  indicative  mode, 
either  expressed  or  understood. 

Every  judgment  must  necessarily  be  true  or  false» 
and  the  same  may  be  said  of  the  proposition  which  ex- 
presses it.  It  is  a  determination  of  the  understanding 
with  regard  to  what  is  true,  or  false,  or  dubious. 

In  judgment,  we  can  distinguish  the  object  about 
which  we  judge,  from  the  act  of  the  mind  in  judging  of 
that  object.  In  mere  feeling  there  is  no  such  distinction. 
The  object  of  judgment  must  be  expressed  by  a  prop- 
osition ;  and  belief,  disbelief,  or  doubt,  always  aecom- 
pauies  the  judgment  we  form.  If  we  judge  the  prop- 
osition to  be  true,  we  must  believe  it;  if  we  judge  it  to 
be  false,  we  must  disbelieve  it;  and  if  we  be  uncertain 
whether  it  be  true  or  false,  we  must  doubt. 

The  toolh-ache,  the  head  ache,  are  words  which  ex- 
press uneasy  feelings ;  but  to  say  that  they  express  a 
judgment  would  be  ridiculous. 

That  the  sun  is  greater  than  the  earth,  is  a  proposi- 
tion, and  therefore  the  object  of  judgment ;  and  when 
affirmed  or  denied,  believed  or  disbelieved,  or  doubted, 
it  expresses  judgment,  but  to  say  that  it  expresses  only 
a  feeling  in  the  mind  of  him  that  believes  it,  would  be 
ridiculous. 


APrROBATION    IMPLIES    JUDGMENT.  409 

These  two  operations  of  mind,  when  we  consider 
them  separately,  are  very  difFerent,  and  easily  distin- 
guished. When  we  feel  without  judging  or  judge  with- 
out feeling,  it  is  impossible,  without  very  gross  inatten- 
tion, to  mistake  the  one  for  the  other. 

But  in  many  operations  of  the  mind,  both  are  insep- 
arably conjoined  under  one  name  ;  and  when  we  are 
not  aware  that  the  operation  is  complex,  we  may  take 
one  ingredient  to  be  the  whole,  and  overlook  the  other. 

In  former  ages,  that  moral  power,  by  which  human 
actions  ought  to  be  regulated,  was  called  reasorit  and 
considered  both  by  philosophers,  and  by  the  vulgar,  as 
the  power  of  judging  what  we  ought,  and  what  we 
ought  not  to  do. 

This  is  very  fully  expressed  by  Mr,  Hume,  in  his 
Treatise  of  Human  Nature,  Book  ii.  part  3.  sect.  3. 
Nothing  is  more  usual  in  philosophy,  and  even  in  com- 
mon life,  than  to  talk  of  the  combat  of  passion  and 
reason,  to  give  the  preference  to  reason,  and  assert 
that  men  are  only  so  far  virtuous  as  they  conform 
themselves  to  its  dictates.  Every  rational  creature,  it 
is  said,  is  obliged  to  regulate  his  actions  by  reason  ; 
and  if  any  other  motive  or  principle  challenge  the  di- 
rection of  his  conduct,  he  ought  to  oppose  it,  till  it  be 
entirely  subdued,  or,  at  least,  brought  to  a  conformity 
to  that  superior  principle.  On  this  method  of  think- 
ing, the  greatest  part  of  moral  philosophy,  ancient  and 
modern,  seems  to  be  founded." 

That  those  philosophers  attended  chiefly  to  the 
judging  power  of  our  moral  faculty,  appears  from  the 
names  they  gave  to  its  operations,  and  from  the  whole 
of  their  language  concerning  it. 

The  modern  philosophy  has  led  men  to  attend  chiefly 
to  their  sensations  and  feelings,  and  thereby  to  resolve 
into  mere  feeling,  complex  acts  of  the  mind,  of  which 
feeling  is  only  one  ingredient. 


ilO  ESSAY    T. 

I  had  occasion,  in  the  preceding  Essays,  to  observe, 
that  several  operations  of  the  mind,  to  wliich  we  give 
one  name,  and  consider  as  one  act,  are  compounded  of 
more  simple  acts,  inseparably  united  in  our  constitution, 
and  (hat  in  these,  sensation  or  feeling  often  makes  one 
ingredient. 

Thus  the  appetites  of  hunger  and  thirst  are  compound- 
ed of  an  uneasy  sensation,  and  the  desire  of  food  or 
drink.  In  our  benevolent  affections,  there  is  both  an 
agreeable  feeling,  and  a  desire  of  happiness  to  the  ob- 
ject of  our  affection ;  and  malevolent  affections  have 
ingredients  of  a  contrary  nature. 

In  these  instances,  sensation  or  feeling  is  insepara- 
bly conjoined  with  desire.  In  other  instances,  we  find 
sensation  inseparably  conjoined  wiih  judgment  or  belief, 
and  that  in  two  different  ways.  In  some  instances,  the 
judgment  or  belief  seems  to  be  the  consequence  of  the 
sensation,  and  to  he  regulated  by  it.  In  other  instan- 
ces, the  sensation  is  the  consequence  of  the  judgment. 

"When  we  perceive  an  external  object  by  our  senses, 
^ve  have  a  sensation  conjoined  with  a  firm  belief  of  the 
existence  and  sensible  qualities  of  the  external  object. 
Nor  has  all  the  subtility  of  metaphysics  been  able  to 
disjoin  what  nature  has  conjoined  in  our  consfitution. 
Des  Cartes  and  Locke  endeavoured,  by  reasoning,  to 
deduce  the  existence  of  external  objects  from  our  sen- 
sations, but  in  vain.  Subsequent  philosophers,  finding 
no  reason  for  this  connection,  endeavoured  to  throw  off 
the  belief  of  external  objects  as  being  unreasonable  ; 
hut  this  attempt  is  no  less  vain.  Nature  has  doomed 
us  to  believe  the  testimony  of  our  senses,  whether  we 
can  give  a  good  reason  for  doing  so  or  not. 

In  this  instance,  the  belief  or  judgment  is  the  con- 
sequence of  the  sensation,  as  the  sensation  is  the  con- 
sequence of  the  impression  made  on  the  organ  of  sense. 

But  in  most  of  the  operations  of  mind  in  which 
judgment  or  belief  is  conibiaed  with  feeling,  the  feel- 


APPROBATION   IMPIIES   JUDGMENT.  ill 

ing  is  (he  consequence  of  the  judgment,  and  is  regulat- 
ed by  it. 

Thus,  an  account  of  the  good  conduct  of  a  friend  at  a 
distance  gives  me  a  very  agreeable  feeling,  and  a  contra- 
ry' account  would  give  meaverj  uneasy  feeling;  but  (hese 
feelings  depend  entirely  upon  my  belief  of  the  report. 

In  hope,  there  is  an  agreeable  feeling,  depending  upon 
the  belief  or  expectation  of  good  to  come  :  fear  is 
made  up  of  contrary  ingredients ;  in  both,  the  feeling 
is  regulated  by  the  degree  of  belief. 

In  the  respect  we  bear  to  the  worthy,  and  in  oup 
contempt  of  the  worthless,  tlHjre  is  both  judgment  and 
feeling,  and  the  last  depends  entirely  upon  the  flrst. 

The  same  may  be  said  of  gratitude  for  good  offices, 
and  resentment  of  injuries. 

Let  me  now  consider  how  I  am  affected  when  I  see 
a  man  exerting  himself  nobly  in  a  good  cause.  lam 
conscious  that  the  effect  of  his  conduct  on  my  mind  is 
complex,  though  it  may  be  called  by  one  name.  I  look 
up  to  his  virtue,  T  approve,  1  admire  it.  In  doing  so, 
I  have  pleasure  indeed,  or  an  agreeable  feeling  j  this 
is  granted.  But  I  find  myself  interested  in  his  suc- 
cess and  in  his  fame.  This  is  affection  ;  it  is  love  and 
esteem,  which  is  more  than  niere  feeling.  The  mati 
is  the  object  of  this  esteem;  but  in  mere  feeling  there 
is  no  object. 

I  am  likewise  conscious,  that  this  agreeable  feeling 
in  me,  and  this  esteem  of  him,  depend  entirely  upon 
the  judgment  I  form  of  his  conduct.  I  j  udge  that  this 
conduct  merits  esteem  ;  and,  while  I  tims  judge,  I  can- 
not but  esteem  him,  and  contemplate  his  conduct  with 
pleasure.  Persuade  me  that  he  was  bribed,  or  that  he 
acted  from  some  mercenary  or  bad  motive,  immediate- 
ly my  esteem  and  my  agreeable  feeling  vanish. 

In  the  approbation  of  a  good  action,  therefore,  there 
h  feeling  indeed,  but  there  is  also  esteem  of  the  agent  x 


il2  ESSAY     V. 

and  both  the  feeling  and  the  esteem  depend  upon  the 
judjjrnent  we  form  of  his  conduct. 

When  I  exercise  my  moral  faculty  about  my  own 
actions  or  those  of  other  men,  I  am  conscious  that  I 
judge  as  well  as  feel.  I  accuse  and  excuse,  I  acquit 
and  condemn,  I  assent  and  dissent,  I  believe,  and  dis- 
believe, and  doubt.  These  ai'e  acts  of  judgment,  and 
not  feelings. 

Every  determination  of  the  understanding,  with  re- 
gard to  what  is  true  or  false,  is  judgment.  That  I 
ought  not  to  sieal,  or  to  kill,  or  to  bear  false  witness,  are 
propositions,  of  the  truth  of  which  I  am  as  well  con- 
vinced as  of  any  proposition  in  Euclid.  I  am  conscious 
that  I  judge  them  to  be  (rue  propositions ;  and  my  con- 
sciousness makes  all  other  arguments  unnecessary, 
with  regard  to  the  operations  of  my  own  mind. 

That  other  men  judge,  as  well  as  feel,  in  such  cases, 
I  am  convinced,  because  they  understand  me  when  I 
express  my  moral  judgment,  and  express  theirs  by  the 
same  terms  and  phrases. 

Suppose  that,  in  a  ease  well  known  to  both,  my 
friend  says.  Such  a  man  did  well  and  worthily  ;  his 
conduct  is  highly  approvahle.  This  speech  according 
to  all  rules  of  interpretation,  expresses  my  friend's 
judgment  of  the  man's  conduct.  This  judgment  may 
be  true  or  false,  and  I  may  agree  in  opinion  with  him, 
or  I  may  dissent  from  him  without  ofience,  as  we  may 
differ  in  other  matters  of  judgment. 

Suppose,  again,  that,  in  relation  to  the  same  case, 
my  friend  says,  Jlie  man's  conduct  gave  me  a  very 
agreeable  feeling. 

This  speech,  if  approbation  be  nothing  but  an  agree- 
able feeling,  must  have  the  very  same  meaning  with 
the  first,  and  express  neither  more  nor  less.  But  this 
cannot  be,  for  two  reasons. 

1st,  Because  there  is  no  rule  in  grammar  or  rheto- 
ric, nor  any  usage  in  language,  by  which  these  two 


APPROBATION   IMPLIES    JUDGMENT.  41 S 

Speeches  can  be  construed,  so  as  to  have  the  same 
meaning.  The  Jlrst  expresses  plainly  an  opinion  or 
judgment  of  the  conduct  of  the  man,  but  says  nothing  of 
the  speaker.  The  second  only  testifies  a  fact  concern- 
ing the  speaker ;  to  wit,  that  he  had  such  a  feeling. 

t^lnotlier  reason  why  these  two  speeches  cannot  mean 
the  same  thing  is,  that  the  first  may  be  contradicted 
without  any  ground  of  offence,  such  contradiction  being 
only  a  difference  of  opinion,  which,  to  a  reasonable 
man,  gives  no  offence.  But  the  second  speech  cannot 
be  contradicted  without  an  affront ;  for,  as  every  man 
must  know  his  own  feeliugs,  to  deny  that  a  man  had  a 
feeling  which  he  affirms  he  had,  is  to  charge  him  with 
falsehood. 

If  moral  approbation  be  a  real  judgment,  which  pro- 
duces an  agreeable  feeling  in  the  mind  of  him  who 
judges,  both  speeches  are  perfectly  intelligible,  in  the 
most  obvious  and  literal  sense.  Their  meaning  is  differ- 
ent, but  they  are  related,  so  that  the  one  maybe  infer- 
red from  the  other,  as  we  infer  the  effect  from  the  cause, 
or  the  cause  from  the  effect.  I  know,  that  what  a  man 
judges  to  be  a  very  worthy  action,  he  contemplates  with 
pleasure;  and  what  he  contemplates  with  pleasure, 
must,  in  his  judgment,  have  worth.  But  the  judgment 
and  the  feeling  are  difTerent  acts  of  his  mind,  though 
connected  as  cause  and  effect.  He  can  express  either 
the  one  or  the  other  with  perfect  propriety  ;  but  the 
speech  which  expresses  his  feeling  is  altogether  im- 
proper  and  inept  to  express  his  judgment,  for  this  evi- 
dent reason,  that  judgment  and  feeling,  though  in  some 
cases  connected,  are  things  in  their  nature  different. 

If  we  suppose,  on  the  other  hand,  that  moral  appro- 
bation is  nothing  more  than  an  agreeable  feeling,  oc- 
casioned by  the  contemplation  of  an  action,  the  second 
speech  above  mentioned  has  a  distinct  meaning,  and  ex- 
presses all  that  is  meant  by  moral  approbation.  But 
vol.  IV.  53 


*l4  ESSAT   T. 

the  first  speech  eiUier  means  the  very  same  ihing, 
which  cannot  be,  for  the  reasons  already  mentioned,  or 
it  has  no  meaning. 

]Vo\v,  we  may  appeal  to  the  reader,  whether,  in  con- 
versation upon  human  characters,  such  speeches  as  the 
first  are  not  as  frequent,  as  familiar,  and  as  well  under- 
stood, as  any  thin.a;  in  language  ;  and  w  hether  they  have 
not  been  common  in  all  ages  that  we  can  trace,  and  in 
all  languages  ? 

This  doctrine,  therefore,  that  moral  approbation  is 
merely  a  feeling  without  Judgment,  necessarily  carries 
along  with  it  this  consequence,  that  a  form  of  speech, 
upon  one  of  the  most  common  topics  of  discourse,  which 
either  has  no  meaning,  or  a  meaning  irreconcileahle  to 
all  rules  of  grammar  or  rhetoric,  is  found  to  be  com- 
mon and  familiar  in  all  languages,  and  in  all  ages  of  ths 
world,  while  every  man  knows  how  to  express  the  mean- 
ing, if  it  have  any,  in  plain  and  proper  language. 

Such  a  consequence  I  think  suflieient  to  sink  any 
philosophical  opinion  on  which  it  hangs. 

A  particular  language  may  have  some  oddity,  or 
even  absurdity,  introduced  by  some  man  of  eminence, 
from  caprice  or  wrong  judgment,  and  followed,  by  ser- 
vile imitators,  for  a  time,  till  it  be  detected,  and,  of 
consequence,  discountenanced  and  dropt ;  but  that  the 
same  absurdity  should  pervade  all  languages,  through 
all  ages,  and  that,  after  being  detected  and  exposed,  it 
should  still  keep  its  countenance  and  its  place  in  lan- 
guage as  much  as  before,  this  can  never  be  while  men 
have  understanding. 

It  may  be  observed,  by  the  way,  that  the  same  ar- 
gument may  be  applied,  with  equal  force,  against  those 
other  paradoxical  opinions  of  modern  philosophy,  which 
we  before  mentioned  as  connected  with  this,  such  as, 
(hat  beauty  and  deformity  are  not  at  all  in  the  objects  to 
which   language  universally  ascribes  them,  but  are 


APPROBATION    IMPLIES    JUDGMENT.  415 

merely  feelings  in  the  mind  of  the  spectator ;  that  the 
secondary  qualities  are  not  in  external  objects,  but  are 
merely  feelings  or  sensations  in  him  that  perceives 
them ;  and,  in  general,  that  our  external  and  internal 
senses  are  faculties  by  which  we  have  sensations  or 
feelings  only,  but  by  which  we  do  not  judge. 

That  every  form  of  speech,  which  language  affords 
to  express  our  judgments,  should,  in  all  ages,  and  in  all 
languages,  be  used  to  express  what  is  no  judgment; 
and  that  feelings,  which  are  easily  expressed  in  proper 
language,  should  as  universally  be  expressed  by  lan- 
guage altogether  improper  and  absurd,  I  cannot  be- 
lieve ;  and  therefore  must  conclude,  that  if  language 
be  the  expression  of  thought,  men  judge  of  the  prima- 
ry and  secondary  qualities  of  body  by  their  external 
senses,  of  beauty  and  deformity,  by  their  taste,  and  of 
virtue  and  vice,  by  their  moral  faculty. 

A  truth  so  evident  as  this  is,  can  hardly  be  obscured 
and  brought  into  doubt,  but  by  the  abuse  of  words. 
And  much  abuse  of  words  there  has  been  upon  this 
subject.  To  avoid  this,  as  much  as  possible,  I  have 
used  the  \\ovi\  judgment,  on  one  side,  and  sensation,  or 
feeling,,  upon  the  other  ;  because  these  words  have  been 
least  liable  to  abuse  or  ambiguity.  But  it  may  be 
proper  to  make  some  observations  upon  other  words 
that  have  been  used  io  this  controversy. 

Mr.  Hume,  in  his  Treatise  of  Human  Nature,  has 
employed  two  sections  upon  it,  the  titles  of  which  are. 
Moral  Distinctions  not  derived  from  Reason,  and  Mor- 
al Distinctions  derived  from  a  Moral  sense. 

When  he  is  not,  by  custom,  led  unawares  to  speak 
of  reason  like  other  men,  he  limits  that  word  to  signify 
only  the  power  of  judging  in  matters  merely  specula- 
tive. Hence  he  concludes,  "That  reason  of  itself  is 
inactive  and  perfectly  inert."  That  "  actions  may  be 
laudable  or  blamcable,  but  cannot  be  reasonable  or  uri° 


M6  ESSAT    V. 

reasonable.'*  That  "  it  is  not  contrary  <o  reason,  to 
prefer  the  desi ruction  of  the  whole  world  to  the  scratch- 
ing of  my  finger."  That  *'  it  is  not  contrary  to  reason, 
for  me  to  choose  my  total  ruin  to  prevent  the  least  un- 
easiness of  an  Indian,  or  of  a  person  wholly  unknown 
to  me."  That  "  reason  is,  and  ought  only  to  be,  the 
slave  of  the  passions,  and  can  never  pretend  to  any  oth- 
er office,  than  to  serve  and  obey  them." 

If  we  take  the  word  reason  to  mean  what  common 
use,  both  of  philosophers,  and  of  the  vulgar,  has  made 
it  to  mean,  these  maxims  are  not  only  false,  but  licen- 
tious. It  is  only  his  abuse  of  the  words  reason  and 
passioUi  that  can. justify  them  from  this  censure. 

The  meaning  of  a  common  word  is  not  to  be  ascer- 
tained by  philosophical  theory,  but  by  common  usage; 
and  if  a  man  will  take  the  liberty  of  limiting  or  extend- 
ing the  meaning  of  common  words  at  his  pleasure,  he 
may,  like  Mandeville,  insinuate  the  most  licentious  par- 
adoxes with  the  appearance  of  plausibility.  I  liave  be- 
fore made  some  observations  upon  the  meaning  of  this 
word,  Essay  II.  chap.  2.  and  Essay  111.  part  3.  chap. 
I.  to  which  the  reader  is  referred. 

When  Mr.  Hume  derives  moral  distinctions  from  a 
moral  sense,  I  agree  with  him  in  words,  but  we  differ 
about  the  meaning  of  the  word  sense.  Every  power  to 
w  hich  the  name  of  a  sense  has  been  given,  is  a  power  of 
judging  of  the  objects  of  that  sense,  and  has  been  ac- 
counted such  in  all  ages;  the  moral  sense  therefore  is 
the  power  of  judging  in  morals.  But  Mr.  Hume  will 
have  the  moral  sense  to  be  only  a  power  of  feeling,  w  ith- 
out  judging:  this  I  take  to  be  an  abuse  of  a  word. 

Authors  who  place  moral  approbation  in  feeling  only, 
very  often  use  the  word  sentiment,  to  express  feeling 
without  judgment.  This  1  lake  likewise  to  be  an  abuse 
of  a  word.  Our  moral  determinations  may,  with  pro- 
priety, be  called  moral  sentiments.    For  the  word  senti- 


APPROBATION    IMPLIES    JUDGMENT.  417 

ment,  in  the  English  language,  never,  as  I  conceive,  sig- 
nifies mere  feeling,  but  judgment  accompanied  with  feel- 
ing. It  was  wont  to  signify  opinion  or  judgment  of  any 
kind,  but,  of  late,  is  appropriated  to  signify  an  opinion 
or  judgment,  that  strikes,  and  produces  sonje  agreeable 
or  uneasy  emotion.  So  we  speak  of  sentiments  of  re- 
spect, of  esteem,  of  gratitude.  But  I  never  heard  the 
pain  of  the  gout,  or  any  other  mere  feeling,  called  a 
sentiment. 

Even  the  word  judgment  has  been  used  by  Mr. 
Hume  to  express  what  he  maintains  to  be  only  a  feel- 
ing. Treafiseof  HumanKature,part3. page  3.  "The 
term  perception  is  no  less  applicable  to  those  jurf^rnen/s 
by  which  we  distinguish  moral  good  and  evil,  than  to 
every  other  operation  of  the  mind."  Perhaps  he  used 
this  word  inadvertently  ;  for  I  think  there  cannot  be  a 
greater  abuse  of  words,  than  to  put  judgment  for  what 
he  held  to  be  mere  feeling. 

All  the  words  most  commonly  used,  both  by  philos- 
ophers and  by  the  vulgar,  to  express  the  operations  of 
our  moral  faculty,  such  as  decisioiit  determination,  sen- 
tence, approbation,  disapprobation,  applause,  censure, 
praise,  blame,  necessarily  imply  judgment  in  their 
meaning.  When,  therefore,  they  are  used  by  Mr.  Hume, 
and  others  who  hold  his  opinion,  to  signify  feelings  on- 
ly, this  is  an  abuse  of  words.  If  these  philosophers 
wish  to  speak  plainly  and  properly,  they  must,  in  dis- 
coursing of  morals,  discard  these  words  altogether,  be- 
cause their  established  signification  in  the  language,  is 
contrary  to  what  they  would  express  by  them. 

They  must  likewise  discard  from  morals  the  words 
ought  and  ought  not,  which  very  properly  express  judg- 
ment, but  cannot  be  applied  to  mere  feelings.  Upon 
these  words  Mr  Hume  has  made  a  particular  observa- 
tion in  the  conclusion  of  his  first  section  above  men- 
tioned. I  shall  give  it  in  his  own  words,  and  make 
^ome  remarks  upon  it. 


418  ESSAY    V. 

**  I  cannot  forbear  adding  to  these  reasonings,  an  ob- 
servation which  may,  perhaps,  be  found  of  some  impor- 
tance. In  every  system  of  morality  which  I  have  hith- 
erto met  with,  1  have  always  remarked,  that  the  auth- 
or proceeds  for  some  time  in  the  ordinary  way  of  rea- 
soning, and  establishes  the  being  of  a  God.  or  makes 
observations  concerning  Imman  affairs  ;  when,  of  a  sud- 
den, I  am  surprised  to  find,  that,  instead  of  the  usual 
copulations  of  propositions,  is,  and  is  not,  I  meet  with 
no  proposition  that  is  not  connected  with  an  ought,  or 
an  ought  not.  This  change  is  imperceptible,  but  is, 
however,  of  the  last  consequence.  For  as  tliis  ought 
or  ought  not  expresses  some  new  relation  or  affirma- 
tion, it  is  necessary  that  it  should  be  observed  and  ex- 
plained ;  and,  at  the  same  time,  that  a  reason  should 
be  given  for  what  seems  altogether  inconceivable;  how 
this  new  relation  can  be  a  deduction  from  others  which 
are  entirely  different  from  it.  But  as  authors  do  not 
commonly  use  this  precaution,  I  shall  presume  to  rec- 
ommend it  to  the  readers;  and  I  am  persuaded  that 
this  small  attention  would  subvert  all  the  vulgar  sys- 
tems of  morality,  and  let  us  see,  that  the  distinction 
of  vice  and  virtue,  is  not  founded  merely  on  the  rela- 
tions of  objects,  nor  is  perceived  by  reason." 

"We  may  here  observe,  that  it  is  acknowledged,  that 
the  words  ought  and  ought  not  express  some  relation  ov 
afGrmation  ;  but  a  relation  or  affirmation  which  Mr, 
Hume  thought  inexplicable,  or,  at  least,  inconsistent 
with  his  system  of  morals-  He  must,  therefore,  have 
thought,  that  they  ought  not  to  be  used  in  treating  of 
that  subject. 

He  likewise  makes  two  demands,  and,  taking  it  for 
granted  that  they  cannot  be  satisfied,  is  persuaded,  that 
an  attention  to  this  is  sufficient  to  subvert  all  the  vul- 
gar systems  of  morals. 

The Jirst  demand  is,  that  ought  and  ought  nothe  ex- 
plained. 


APPROBATION    IMPXIES    JUDGMENT.  419 

To  a  niati  that  understands  English,  there  are  sure- 
ly no  words  that  require  explanation  less.  Are  not  all 
men  taught,  from  their  early  years,  that  they  ouglit 
not  to  lie,  nor  steal,  nor  swear  falsely  ?  But  Mr.  Hume 
thinks,  that  men  never  understood  what  these  precepts 
mean,  or  rather  that  they  are  unintelligible.  If  this 
be  so,  I  think  indeed  it  will  follow,  that  all  the  vulgar 
systems  of  morals  are  subverted. 

Dr.  Johnson,  in  his  Dictionary,  explains  the  word 
ought  to  signify,  being  obliged  by  dutyj  and  I  know 
no  better  explication  that  can  be  given  of  it.  The 
reader  will  see  what  I  thought  necessary  to  say  con- 
cerning the  moral  relation  expressed  by  this  word,  in 
Essay  III.  part  3.  chap.  5. 

The  second  demand  is,  that  a  reason  should  be  given 
why  this  relation  should  be  a  deduction  from  others, 
which  are  entirely  different  from  it. 

This  is  to  demand  a  reason  for  what  does  not  exist. 
The  first  principles  of  morals  are  not  deductions. 
They  are  self-evident ;  and  their  truth,  like  that  of 
other  axioms,  is  perceived  without  reasoning  or  deduc- 
tion. And  moral  truths,  that  are  not  self-evident,  arc 
deduced  not  from  relations  quite  different  from  them, 
but  from  the  first  principles  of  morals. 

In  a  matter  so  interesting  to  mankind,  and  so  fre- 
quently the  subject  of  conversation  among  the  learned 
and  the  unlearned  as  morals  is,  it  may  surely  be  ex- 
pected that  men  will  express  both  their  judgments  and 
their  feelings  with  propriety,  and  consistently  with  the 
rules  of  language.  An  opinion,  therefore,  whieh  makes 
the  language  of  all  ages  and  nations,  upon  this  sub- 
ject, to  be  improper,  contrary  to  all  rules  of  language, 
and  fit  to  be  discarded,  needs  no  other  refutation. 

As  mankind  have,  in  all  ages,  understood  reason  to 
mean  the  power,  by  which  not  only  our  speculative 
opinions,  but  our  actions  ought  to  be  regulated,  we  may 


420  ESSAY    T. 

say,  with  perfect  propriety  that  all  vice  is  contrary  to 
reason  ;  that,  by  reason,  we  are  to  judge  of  what  wc 
ouglit  to  do.  as  well  as  of  what  we  ought  to  believe. 

But  thon.^h  all  vice  be  contrary  to  reason,  I  conceive 
that  it  would  not  be  a  proper  deOnition  of  vice  to  say, 
that  it  is  a  conduct  contrary  to  reason,  because  this  def- 
inilion  would  apply  equally  to  folly,  which  all  men  dis- 
tinguish from  vice. 

There  are  other  phrases  which  have  been  used  oil 
the  same  side  of  the  question,  w  hich  I  see  no  reason  for 
adopting,  such  as,  acting  contrary  to  the  relations  of 
things,  contrary  to  the  reason  of  things^  to  the  fitness  of 
things,  to  the  truth  of  things,  to  absolute  fitness.  These 
phrases  have  not  the  authority  of  common  use,  which, 
in  matter  of  language,  is  great.  They  seem  to  have 
been  invented  by  some  authors,  with  a  view  to  explain 
the  nature  of  vice ;  but  I  do  not  think  they  answer  that 
end.  If  intended  as  definitions  of  vice,  they  are  improp- 
er ;  because,  in  the  most  favourable  sense  they  can  bear, 
they  extend  to  every  kind  of  foolish  and  absurd  conduct, 
as  well  as  to  that  which  is  vicious. 

I  shall  conclude  this  chapter  with  some  observations 
upon  the  five  arguments  which  Mr.  Hume  has  offered 
upon  this  point  in  his  Enquiry. 

The  first  is,  That  it  is  impossible  that  the  hypothe- 
sis he  opposes,  can,  in  any  particular  instance,  be  so 
much  as  rendered  intelligible,  whatever  specious  figure 
it  may  make  in  general  discourse.  <' Examine,"  says 
he,  *»  the  crime  oi' ingratitude,  anatomize  all  its  circum- 
stances, and  examine,  by  your  reason  alone,  in  what 
consists  the  demerit  or  blame,  you  will  never  come 
to  any  issue  or  conclusion." 

I  think  it  unnecessary  to  follow  him  through  all  the 
accounts  of  ingratitude  which  he  conceives  may  be 
given  by  those  whom  he  opposes,  because  I  agree  with 
him  in  that  which  he  himself  adopts,  to  wit,  "That 


APPROBATION   IMPLIES    JUDGMENT.  421 

this  crime  arises  from  a  complication  of  circumstances, 
which,  being  presented  to  the  spectator,  excites  the 
sentiment  of  blame  hy  tlic  particular,  structure  and 
fabric  of  his  mind." 

This  he  thought  a  true  and  intelligible  account  of  the 
criminality  of  ingratitude.  So  do  I.  And  therefore  I 
think  the  hypothesis  he  opposes  is  intelligible,  M'hen  ap- 
plied to  a  particular  instance. 

Mr.  Kume,  no  doubt,  thought  that  the  account  he 
gives  of  ingratitude  is  inconsistent  Aviththe  hypothesis 
he  opposes,  and  could  not  be  adopted  by  those  who  hold 
that  hypothesis.  He  could  be  led  to  think  so,  only 
by  taking  for  granted  one  of  these  two  things.  Either, 
1st,  that  the  sentiment  of  hlame  means  a  feeling  only, 
without  judgment;  or  2dly,  that  whatever  is  excit- 
ed by  the  particular  fabric  and  structure  of  the  mind 
must  be  feeling  only,  and  not  judgment.  But  I  cannot 
grant  either  the  one  or  the  other. 

For,  as  to  the  Jirstf  it  seems  evident  to  me,  that  both 
senfMnenfandftiame  imply  judgment;  and,  therefore,  that 
the  sentiment  of  blame  means  a  judgment  accompanied 
with  feeling,  and  not  mere  feeling  without  judgment. 

The  second  can  as  little  be  granted ;  for  no  operation 
of  mind,  whether  judgment  or  feeling,  can  be  excited 
but  by  that  particular  structure  and  fabric  of  the  mind 
which  makes  us  capable  of  that  operation. 

By  that  part  of  our  fabric,  which  we  call  the  facul- 
ty of  seeing,  we  judge  of  visible  objects :  by  taste,  anoth- 
er part  of  our  fabric,  we  judge  of  beauty  and  deform- 
ity ;  by  that  part  of  our  fabric  which  enables  us  to 
form  abstract  conceptions,  to  compare  them,  and  per- 
ceive their  relations,  we  judge  of  abstract  truths;  and 
by  that  part  of  our  fabric  which  we  call  the  moralfac- 
nltij,  we  judge  of  virtue  and  vice.     If  we  suppose  a 

voii.  IV.  Bii 


422  ESSAY     V. 

being  vithout  any  moral  facuhy  in  his  fabric,  I  grant 
that  he  could  not  have  the  seuliments  of  blame  and 
moral  approbation. . 

There  are,  therefore,  judgments,  as  well  as  feelings, 
that  are  excited  by  the  particular  structure  and  fabric 
of  the  mind.  But  there  is  this  remarkable  difference 
between  them,  that  every  judgment  is,  in  its  own  na- 
ture, true  or  false  ;  and  though  it  depends  upon  the  fab- 
ric of  the  mind,  whether  it  have  such  a  judgment  or  not, 
it  depends  not  upon  that  fabric  whether  the  judgment 
be  true  or  not.  A  true  judgment  will  be  true,  whatev- 
er be  the  fabric  of  the  mind  ;  but  a  particular  structure 
and  fabric  is  necessary,  in  order  to  our  perceiving  that 
truth.  Nothing  like  this  can  be  said  of  mere  feelings, 
because  the  attributes  of  true  or  false  do  not  belong  to 
them. 

Thus  I  think  it  appears,  that  the  hypothesis  which 
Mr.  Hume  opposes,  is  not  unintelligible,  when  applied 
to  the  particular  instance  of  ingratitude  ;  because  the 
account  of  ingratitude  which  he  himself  thinks  true  and 
intelligible,  is  perfectly  agreeable  to  it. 

The  second  argument  amounts  to  this :  that  in  moral 
deliberation,  we  must  be  acquainted  before  hand  with 
all  the  objects  and  all  their  relations.  After  these 
things  are  known,  the  understanding  has  no  further 
room  to  operate.  Nothing  remains  but  to  feel,  on  our 
part,  some  sentiment  of  blame  or  approbation. 

Let  us  apply  this  reasoning  to  the  oflSce  of  a  judge. 
In  a  cause  that  comes  before  him,  he  must  be  made  ac- 
quainted with  all  the  objects,  and  all  their  relations. 
After  this,  his  understanding  has  no  further  room  to 
operate.  Nothing  remains,  on  his  part,  but  to  feel  the 
right  or  the  wrong;  and  mankind  have  very  ab- 
surdly called  him  a  judge  ,•  he  ought  to  be  called  a 
feeler. 


APPROBATION   IMPLIES    JUDGMENT.  423 

To  answer  this  argument  more  directly :  the  man 
who  deliberates,  after  all  the  objects  and  relations 
mentioned  by  Mr.  Hume  are  known  to  him,  has  a  point 
to  determine  ;  and  that  is,  whether  the  action  under 
Lis  deliberation  ought  to  be  done,  or  ought  not.  In 
most  cases,  this  point  will  appear  self-evident  to  a 
man  who  has  been  accustomed  to  exercise  his  moral 
judgment,'  in  some  cases  it  may  require  reason- 
ing. 

In  like  manner,  the  judge,  after  all  the  circumstances 
of  the  cause  are  known,  has  to  judge,  whether  the  plain- 
tiff has  a  just  plea  or  not. 

The  third  argument  is  taken  from  the  analogy  be- 
tween moral  beauty  and  natural,  between  moral  senti- 
ment and  taste.  As  beauty  is  not  a  quality  of  the  ob- 
ject, but  a  certain  feeling  of  the  spectator,  so  virtue 
and  vice  are  not  qualities  in  the  persons  to  whom 
language  ascribes  them,  but  feelings  of  the  specta- 
tor. 

But  is  it  certain  that  beauty  is  not  any  quality  of  the 
object  ?  This  is  indeed  a  paradox  of  modern  philosophy, 
built  upon  a  philosophical  theory ;  but  a  paradox  so 
contrary  to  the  common  language  and  common  sense  of 
mankind,  that  it  ought  rather  to  overturn  the  theory  on 
which  it  stands,  than  receive  any  support  from  it.  And 
if  beauty  be  really  a  quality  of  the  object,  and  not 
merely  a  feeling  of  the  spectator,  the  whole  force  of 
this  argument  goes  over  to  the  other  side  of  the  ques- 
tion. 

"Euclid,"  he  says,  "has  fully  explained  all  the 
qualities  of  the  circle,  but  has  not,  in  any  proposition, 
said  a  word  of  its  beauty.  The  reason  is  evident.  The 
beauty  is  not  a  quality  of  the  circle." 

By  the  qualities  of  the  ch'cle,  he  must  mean  itsprop» 
crtiesj  and  there  are  here  two  mistakes. 


i2i  ESSAY   T. 

1st,  Euclid  has  not  fully  explained  all  the  proper- 
ties of  the  eirclc.  Many  have  heen  discovered  and  de- 
monstrated which  he  never  dreamed  of. 

2dly,  The  reason  -why  Euclid  has  not  said  a  ^vo^d 
of  the  heauty  of  the  circle,  is  not,  that  heauty  is  not  a 
quality  of  the  circle  ;  the  reason  is,  that  Euclid  never 
digresses  from  his  subject.  His  purpose  was  to  demon- 
strate the  mathematical  properties  of  the  circle.  Beau- 
ty is  a  quality  of  the  circle,  not  demonstrable  by  math- 
ematical reasoning,  but  immediately  perceived  by  a  good 
taste.  To  speak  of  it  would  have  been  a  digression 
from  his  subject  |  and  that  is  a  fault  he  is  never  guilty 
of. 

The  fourth  argument  is,  that  inanimate  objects  may 
bear  to  each  other  all  the  same  relations  which  we  ob- 
serve in  moral  agents. 

If  this  were  true,  it  would  be  very  much  to  the  pur- 
pose ;  but  it  seems  to  be  thrown  out  rashly,  without 
any  attention  to  its  evidence.  Had  Mr.  Hume  reflect- 
ed but  a  very  little  upon  this  dogmatical  assertion,  a 
thousand  instances  would  have  occurred  to  him  in  di- 
rect contradiction  to  it. 

May  not  one  animal  be  more  tame,  or  more  docile^ 
or  more  cunning,  or  more  Ccrce,  or  more  ravenous,  than 
another?  Are  these  relations  to  be  found  in  inanimate 
objects  ?  May  not  one  man  be  a  better  painter,  or 
sculptor,  or  ship-builder,  or  tailor,  or  shoemaker,  than 
another  ?  Are  these  relations  to  be  found  in  inanimate 
objects,  or  even  in  brute  animals?  May  not  one  moral 
agent  be  more  just,  more  pious,  more  attentive  to  any 
moral  duty,  or  more  eminent  in  any  moral  virtue,  than 
another?  Are  not  these  relations  peculiar  to  moral 
agents  ?  But  to  come  to  the  relations  most  essential  to 
morality. 

AVhen  I  say  tliat  I  ought  to  do  such  an  actiorif  that  it 
is  my  duty,  do  not  these  words  express  a  relation  be- 


APPROBATION    IMPLIES    JUDGMENT.  425 

tween  me  and  a  cei'taiii  action  in  my  power ;  a  relation 
wJilch  cannot  be  between  inanimate  objects,  or  between 
any  other  objects  but  a  moral  agent  and  his  moral  ac- 
tions ;  a  relation  which  is  well  understood  by  all  men 
come  to  years  of  understanding)  and  expressed  in  all 
languages  ?  > 

Again,  when  in  deliberating  about  two  actions  in 
my  power,  which  cannot  both  be  done,  I  say  this  ought 
to  be  preferred  to  the  other;  that  justice,  for  instance, 
ought  to  be  preferred  to  generosity ;  I  express  a  moral 
relation  between  two  actions  of  a  moral  agent,  which  is 
well  understood,  and  which  cannot  exist  between  objects 
of  any  other  kind. 

There  are,  therefore,  moral  relations  which  can  have 
no  existence  but  between  moral  agents  and  their  vol- 
untary actions.  To  determine  these  relations  is  the 
object  of  morals  ;  and  to  determine  relations,  is  the 
province  of  judgment,  and  not  of  mere  feeling. 

The  last  argument  is  a  chain  of  several  propositions, 
which  deserve  distinct  consideration.  They  may,  I 
think,  be  summed  up  in  these  four:  1st,  There  must 
be  ultimate  ends  of  action,  beyond  which  it  is  absurd  to 
ask  a  reason  of  acting.  Sdly,  The  ultimate  ends  of 
human  actions  can  never  be  accounted  for  by  reason  ; 
Sdly,  But  recommend  themselves  entirely  to  the  senti- 
ments and  affections  of  mankind,  without  any  depen- 
dence on  the  intellectual  faculties.  4thly,  As  virtue 
is  an  end,  and  is  desirable  on  its  own  account,  without 
fee  or  reward,  merely  for  the  immediate  satisfaction 
it  conveys  ;  it  is  requisite,  that  there  should  be  some 
sentiment  which  it  touches,  some  internal  taste  or  feel- 
ing, or  whatever  you  please  to  call  it,  which  distin- 
guishes moral  good  and  evil,  and  which  embraces  the 
one,  and  rejects  the  other. 

To  the  first  of  these  propositions  I  entirely  agree. 
The  ultimate  ends  of  action  are  what  I  have  called  the 


*26  ESSAY     V. 

principles  of  actioiu  which  I  have  endeavoured,  in  the 
third  Essay,  to  enumerate,  and  to  class  under  three 
heads  of  mechanical,  animal,  and  rational. 

The  second  proposition  needs  some  explication.  I 
take  its  mea-iing  to  he.  that  there  cannot  he  another 
end  for  the  sake  of  which  an  ultintate  end  is  pursued  : 
for  the  reason  of  an  action  means  nothing  but  the  end 
for  which  the  action  is  done  ;  and  the  reason  of  an  end 
of  action  can  mean  nothing  hut  another  end,  for  the 
sake  of  which  that  end  is  pursued,  and  to  which  it  is 
the  means. 

That  this  is  the  author's  meaning  is  evident  from 
liis  reasoning  in  confirmation  of  it.  <'  Ask  aman,7v/tt/ 
he  uses  exercise'!^  he  will  answer,  because  he  desires  to 
keep  his  health.  If  you  then  inquire,  why  he  desires 
health '?  he  will  readily  reply,  because  sickness  is  pain- 
ful. If  you  push  your  inquiries  further,  and  desire  a 
reason  why  he  hales  pain,  it  is  impossible  he  can  ever 
give  any.  This  is  an  ultimate  end,  and  is  never  refer- 
red to  any  other  object."  To  account  by  reason  for 
an  end,  therefore,  is  to  show  another  end,  for  the  sake 
of  which  that  end  is  desired  and  pursued.  And  that, 
in  this  sense,  an  ultimate  end  can  never  be  accounted 
for  by  reason,  is  certain,  because  that  cannot  be  an  ul- 
timate end  which  is  pursued  only  for  the  sake  of  anoth- 
er end. 

I  agree  therefore  with  Mr.  Hume  in  this  second  prop- 
osition, which  indeed  is  implied  in  the  first. 

The  third  proposition  is,  that  ultimate  ends  recom- 
mend themselves  entirely  to  the  sentiments  and  affec- 
tions of  mankind,  without  any  dependence  on  the  intel- 
lectual faculties. 

By  sentiments,  he  must  here  mean  feelings  without 
judgment,  and  by  affections,  such  aflTections  as  imply 
no  judgment.  For  surely  any  operation  that  implies 
judgment,  cannot  be  independent  of  the  intellectual  fac- 
ulties. 


APPROBATION"   IMPIIES    JUBGMENT.  427 

TIlis  being  understood,  I  cannot  assent  to  this  prop- 
osition. 

The  author  seems  to  think  it  implied  in  the  preced- 
ing, or  a  necessary  consequence  from  it,  that  because 
an  ultimate  end  cannot  be  accounted  for  by  reason  j 
that  is,  cannot  be  pursued  merely  for  the  sake  of  anoth- 
er end  ;  therefore  it  can  have  no  dependence  on  the  in- 
tellectual faculties.  I  deny  this  consequence,  and  can 
see  no  force  in  it. 

I  think  it  not  only  does  not  follow  from  the  preceding 
proposition,  but  that  it  is  contrary  to  truth. 

A  man  may  act  from  gratitude  as  an  ultimate  end  j 
but  gratitude  implies  a  judgment  and  belief  of  favours 
received,  and  therefore  is  dependent  on  the  intellectual 
faculties.  A  man  may  act  from  respect  to  a  worthy 
character  as  an  ultimate  end  ;  but  this  respect  neces- 
sarily implies  a  judgment  of  worth  in  the  person,  and 
therefore  is  dependent   on  the    intellectual  faculties. 

I  have  endeavoured  in  the  third  Essay  before  men- 
tioned, to  show  that,  beside  the  animal  principles  of 
our  nature,  which  require  will  and  intention,  but  not 
judgment,  there  are  also  in  human  nature  rational  prin- 
ciples bf  action,  or  ultimate  ends,  which  have,  in  all 
ages,  been  called  rational,  and  have  a  just  title  to  that 
name,  not  only  from  the  authority  of  language,  but  be- 
cause they  can  have  no  existence  but  in  beings  endow- 
ed with  reason,  and  because,  in  all  their  exertions,  they 
require  not  only  intention  and  will,  but  judgment  or 
reason. 

Therefore,  until  it  can  be  proved  that  an  ultimate 
end  cannot  be  dependent  on  the  intellectual  faculties, 
this  third  proposition^  and  all  that  hangs  upon  it,  must 
fall  to  the  ground. 

The  last  proposition  assumes,  with  very  good  reason, 
that  virtue  is  an  ultimate  end,  and  desirable  on  its  own 
account.    From  which,  if  the  third  proposition  were 


428  ESSAY    V. 

true,  the  conclusion  would  undoubtedly  follow,  that 
virtue  has  no  dependence  on  the  intellectual  faculties. 
But  as  that  proposition  is  not  granted,  nor  proved,  this 
conclusion  is  left  without  any  support  from  the  whole 
of  the  argument. 

I  should  not  have  thought  it  worth  while  to  insist  so 
long  upon  this  controversy,  if  I  did  not  conceive  that 
the  consequences  which  the  contrary  opinions  draw  af- 
ter them  are  important. 

If  what  we  call  moral  judgment  be  no  real  judgment, 
but  merely  a  feeling,  it  follows,  that  the  principles  of 
morals,  which  we  have  been  taught  to  consider  as  an 
immutable  law  to  all  intelligent  beings,  have  no  other 
foundation  but  an  arbitrary  structure  and  fabric  in  the 
constitution  of  the  human  mind  :  so  that,  by  a  change 
in  our  structure,  what  is  immoral  might  become  moral, 
virtue  might  be  turned  into  vice,  and  vice  into  virtue. 
And  beings  of  a  different  structure,  according  to  the 
variety  of  their  feelings,  may  have  different,  nay  oppo- 
site measures  of  moral  good  and  evil. 

It  follows  that,  from  our  notions  of  morals,  we  can 
conclude  nothing  concerning  a  moral  character  in  the 
Deity,  which  is  the  foundation  of  ail  religion,  and  the 
strongest  support  of  virtue. 

Nay,  this  opinion  seems  to  conclude  strongly  against 
a  moral  character  in  the  Deity,  since  nothing  arbitrary 
or  mutable  can  be  conceived  to  enter  into  ihe  descrip- 
tion of  a  nature  eternal,  immutable,  and  necessarily 
existent.  Mr.  Hume  seems  perfectly  consistent  with 
himself,  in  allowing  of  no  evidence  for  the  mural  at- 
tributes of  the  Supreme  Being,  whatever  there  may 
foe  for  his  natural  attributes. 

On  the  other  hand,  if  moral  judgment  be  a  true  and 
real  judgment,  the  principles  of  morals  stand  upon  the 
immutable  foundation  of  truth,  and  can  undergo  no 


APPROBATION    IMPLIES  JUDGMENT.  429 

change  by  any  difference  of  fabric,  op  structure  of  those 
who  judge  of  them.  There  may  be,  and  there  are, 
beings,  who  have  not  the  faculty  of  conceiving  moral 
truths,  or  perceiving  the  excellence  of  moral  worth, 
as  there  are  beings  incapable  of  perceiving  mathemati- 
cal truths;  but  no  defect,  no  error  of  understanding, 
can  make  what  is  true  to  be  false. 

If  it  be  true  that  piety,  justice,  benevolence,  wisdom, 
temperance,  fortitude,  are  in  their  own  nature  the  most 
excellent  and  most  amiable  qualities  of  a  human  crea- 
ture ;  that  vice  has  an  inherent  turpitude  which  merits 
disapprobation  and  dislike  ;  these  truths  cannot  be  hid 
from  him  whose  understanding  is  infinite,  whose  judg- 
ment is  always  according  to  truth,  and  who  must  es- 
teem every  thing  according  to  its  real  value. 

The  Judge  of  all  the  earth,  we  are  sure,  will  do  right- 
He  has  given  to  men  the  faculty  of  perceiving  the  right 
and  the  wrong  in  conduct,  as  far  as  is  necessary  to  our 
present  state,  and  of;perceiving  the  dignity  of  the  one, 
and  the  demerit  of  the  other  ;  and  surely  there  can  be 
no  real  knowledge  or  real  excellence  in  man,  which  is 
not  in  his  Maker. 

We, may  therefore  justly  conclude,  that  what  we 
know  in  part,  and  see  in  part  of  right  and  wrong,  he 
sees  perfectly ;  that  the  moral  excellence  which  we  see 
and  admire  in  some  of  our  fellow-creatures,  is  a  faint 
but  true  copy  of  that  moral  excellence,  which  is  essen- 
tial to  his  nature  ;  and  that  to  tread  the  path  of  virtue 
is  the  true  dignity  of  our  nature,  an  imitation  of  God, 
and  the  way  to  obtain  his  favour. 


vox.  IV.  55 


NOTES 


TO    THE    FOURTH    VOLUME. 

NOTE  A.     Page  5. 

The  word  determination,  as  used  by  the  best  lexicogra- 
phers and  wiiters,  is  too  limited  in  its  signification  to  com- 
prehend all  the  operations  of  the  nvill.  We  determine,  resolve, 
prefer,  choose  and  purpose.  All  these  are  operations  of  the 
faculty  of  the  will.  "  The  will,  in  truth,"  says  Mr.  Locke, 
Essay  B.  II.  eh.  2 1 .  §  1 7.  "  signifies  nothing  but  a  power  or 
ability  to  prefer  or  choose."  This  corresponds  with  the  de- 
scription of  that  faculty,  which  is  given  by  the  learned  presi- 
dent Edwards. 

A  volition  is  any  operation  of  the  faculty  of  the  will,  whether 
that  opei'ation  be  called  a  determination,  a  preference,  or  a 
choice.     It  is  synonymous  with  the  act  of  willing. 

NOTE  B.     Page  9. 

"  We  may  desire  what  we  do  not  will,"  for  we  desire  a  ffood, 
but  will  a7i  action.  The  converse  of  this  proposition  cannot 
be  true,  unless  we  could  will  something  besides  an  action. 
It  is  not  true,  that  we  will  what  we  do  not  desire :  for  we 
will  to  do  no  action,  which,  upon  the  whole,  we  do  not  desire 
to  do.  Let  will  and  desire  be  considered  in  relation  to  any  one 
action^  which  is  adduced,  as  an  example  by  Dr.  Reid.  A  thirsty 
man  desires  drink  abstractly  considered,  we  allow  ;  but  does 
he  desire  to  perform  the  action  of  drinking  ?  It  is  this  act  of 
drinking,  which  must  be  regarded  by  the  desire  and  the  will. 
For  some  particular  reason  he  desires  not  the  action  of  drink- 
ing, and  he  wills  not  to  perform  it.  To  will  drink  would  be 
bad  english,but  to  say  that  he  who  wills  not  to  drink,  does  not, 
for  some  reason,  desire  abstinence  from  drink,  is  contrary  to 
our  consciousness.    A  judge  desires  that  a  criminal  should 


H  NOTES. 

live,  M'hen  he  simply  regards  the  criminal's  welfare,  but  at  the 
same  time  desires  to  perform  his  own  duty  in  dooming  him  to 
die,  and  therefore  wills  to  pass  sentence. 

To  obtain  health  a  man  desires  the  action  of  drinking  a 
nauseous  dru^,  and  wills  to  perform  it,  while  the  drug  itself 
is  not  an  object  of  desire,  but  of  aversion.  The  truth  seems 
to  be  this  :  we  desire  many  things  which  we  know  to  be  inde- 
pendent of  our  own  volitions ;  but  for  some  reason  or  other, 
we  desire,  upon  the  whole,  to  do  all  those  actions  which  wc 
will  to  perform. 

NOTEC.     Page  11. 

This  is  a  fact  which  relates  to  the  faculty  of  agency,  rather 
than  to  that  of  the  will.  The  power  to  will  may  exist,  when 
the  power  of  making  the  accustomed,  corresponding  effort  is 
gone.  I  may  think  that  I  have  power  to  regulate  my  thovights ; 
I  may  will  to  do  it ;  and  may  not  find  that  power  of  doing 
which  I  have  formerly  found  connected  with  similar  volitions. 
Cut  the  unseen  ligament  which  connects  doing  with  willing, 
without  discovering  the  fact  to  the  mind  of  man,  and  he  might 
will  without  effect,  for  ever. 

NOTED.    Page.  11. 

Bias  and  habit,  which  are  formed  by  the  repetition  of  desire, 
volition,  or  action  of  some  sort,  may  be  said  to  be  immanent 
in  the  soul,  and  constitute  that  something  in  the  preceding 
state  of  the  mind  that  disposes  or  inclines  us  to  many  voli- 
tions. Something,  however,  may  be  discovered  without  the 
mind,  which  disposes  to  determinations,  preference,  and 
choice.  Every  operation  of  tlie  will  requires  then  three 
things  :  1  st,  an  agent,  who  possesses  the  power  of  willing  : 
2dly,  an  object,  which  is  the  thing  willed  ;  and  Sdly,  a  mo- 
tive, which  disposes  the  agent  to  will.  By  motive  to  any 
operation  of  the  will,  wc  intend  any  thing  which  the  mind 
perceives  or  feels,  which  moves  it,  or  inclines  it,  to  that  voli- 
tion. 

It  may  be  the  perception  of  a  simple,  or  of  a  complex  ob- 
ject. It  may  be  a  sensation,  a  conception,  a  judgment,  a 
course  of  reasoning,  an  instinct,  a  habit,  an  appetite,  a  pas- 


NOTES.  Ill 

sion,  or  a  previous  determination,  whether  immediately  pre- 
vious, or  ripened  into  a  delibei'ate  purpose.  The  perception 
of  the  motive  is  immediately  antecedent  to  the  volition. 

If  we  could  choose,  prefer,  determine,  will,  without  the 
perception  of  some  motive,  it  would  be  absurd  to  ask,  and 
equally  absurd  to  answer  those  common  qviestions  ;  "  why 
did  you  make  such  a  choice  ?  why  did  you  prefer  this  ?  why 
did  you  will  it  ?  what  induced  you  thus  to  determine  ?"  either 
men  are  destitute  of  common  sense,  or  else  common  sense 
teaches,  that  every  volition  is  dependent  on  some  motive,  per- 
ceived by  the  understanding. 

It  is  common,  in  all  languages,  to  ask  for  the  reason  of  hu- 
man conduct ;  and  that  i-eason,  which  is  candidly  disclosed, 
is  the  true  motive  to  volition.  I  will  to  eat,  because  I  am 
hungry ;  I  will  to  read,  because  it  affords  me  instruction ; 
and  I  never  will  without  the  perception  of  somethmg,  which 
seems  to  me,  at  the  time,  to  be  desirable.  Let  another  show 
that  he  wills  without  motives  if  he  can. 

NOTE  E.  Page  14, 
We  do  not  excuse  a  maniac  because  he  acts  from  those  mo- 
tives which  his  passions  pi'esent,  for  some  men  often  do  the 
same  ;  but  because  he  is  deprived  of  the  use  of  those  intel- 
lectual faculties,  which  are  requisite  to  cojistitute  a  moral 
agent.  We  acquit  him  of  moral  turpitude  for  the  same  rea- 
son that  we  do  idiots.  Some  physical  defect  has  rendered  him 
incapable  of  those  intellectual  operations,  and  acts  of  the  will, 
or  dictates  of  the  moral  sense,  which  constitute  an  agent 
amenable  to  his  Maker  according  to  the  standard  of  morality. 

NOTEF.  Page  15. 
The  American  Indian,  like  all  savages,  speaks  in  figura- 
tive language ;  but  he  is  not  so  much  of  a  fool  as  to  think  that 
drink  is  an  intelligent,  accountable  being.  If  drink  com- 
mitted murder,  drink,  and  not  the  Indian,  should  be  brought 
to  the  gallows,  and  some  philosopher  should  be  the  hangman. 
For  the  honor  of  the  venerable  writer  we  could  Avish  that  this 
chapter  had  never  seen  the  light.  Certainly  he  was  not  igno- 
rant of  this  maxim  of  common  law,  that  for  a  crime  com- 


If  NOTES. 

mitted  in  a  fit  of  drunkenness  the  culprit  must  account  when 
sober. 

NOTE  G.    Page  23. 
Mr,  Locke  says,  "  it  is  as  insijjnificant  to  ask,  whether 
man's  will  be  free,  as  to  ask,  whether  his  sleep  be  swift,  or  his 
virtue  square:  liberty  being  as  little  applicable  to  the  will,  as 
swiftness  of  motion  is  to  sleep,  or  squareness  to  virtue." 
Essay  B.  II.  ch.  21.  §  14.    In  the  next  section  he  proceeds 
to  state,  that  "  liberty  is  the  power  a  man  has  to  do  or  forbear 
doing  any  particular  action,  according  as  its  doing  or  forbear- 
ance has  the  actual  preference  in  the  mind,  which  is  the  same 
thing  as  to  say,  according  as  he  himself  wills  it."     This  doc- 
trine we  think  has  a  greater  semblance  to  truth  than  the  hy- 
pothesis of  Dr.  Reid,  that  liberty  consists  in  the  power  of  de- 
termining our  volitions,   and  must  necessarily  be  impaired  in 
proportion  to  the  strength  of  impulse,  of  passion  and  appetite. 
We  apprehend  that  both  philosophers  were  wrong.     It  is  as 
absurd  to  attribute  liberty  to  the  power  of  doing  as  to  the 
power  of  willing.     The  power  of  doing  what  we  will,  is  the 
faculty  of  agency,  in  consequence  of  which  we  attribute  to  man 
that  quality  or  attribute  which  we  call  activity.     JJbcrty  is  not 
2k  faculty  or  power,  any  more  than  virtue  and  vice  are  powers : 
it  is  an  attribute  of  character,  which  lies  not  in  the  power 
of  Avilling,  nor  in  the  power  of  doing,  but  in  the  connection 
which  the  Author  of  our  nature  has  caused  to  subsist  between 
the  faculty  of  the  will,  and  the  faculty  of  agency.     While 
the  being,  who  Avills  any  action,  finds  the  performance  of  that 
action  to  follow  his  volition,  he  is  a  free  being,  or  an  agent 
possessed  of  the  attribute  of  liberty.     Human  liberty  is  cir- 
cumscribed ;  for  we  are  not  at  liberty  to  cease  from  thought, 
consciousness,  and  sensation,  even  if  we  will  to  think  and  feel 
no  more.     Liberty  is  exactly  commensurate  with  that  unseen 
link,  which  connects  the  power  of  willing  with  tlie  power  of 
doing.     So  far  as  Ave  can  perform  the  actions  which  we  will, 
our  liberty  extends,  and  no  further.   Here  "  it  is  carefully  to  be 
remcinbered,  that  freedom  consists  in  the  dependence  of  the 
existence,  or  non-existence  of  any  action,  upon  our  volition 
of  it,  and  not  in  the  dependence  of  any  action,  or  its  contrary, 


NOTES.  )  V 

on  our  preference."  Locke,  Essay  B.  II.  ch.  21.  §  27.  Take 
away  from  man  either  the  power  of  will,  or  the  power  of 
action,  or  the  connection  in  the  constitution  of  our  nature 
between  the  two,  and  liberty  cannot  exist ;  but  while  these 
remain,  nothing  more  is  requisite  to  freedom.  To  ascertain, 
therefore,  in  what  liberty  consists,  it  is  not  requisite  to  ask 
how  or  why  we  will.  Has  a  man  liberty  to  walk  ?  He  wills  to 
walk;  the  action  of  walking  follows,  and  every  one  pro- 
nounces that  he  enjoyed  the  liberty  of  walking,  without  ask- 
ing, "  what  motive  disposed  him  to  will  to  walk  ?" 

To  push,  or  not  to  push,  are  actions  which  most  men,  who 
will,  are  able  to  perform,  and  therefore  they  relate  to  the  ques- 
tion of  human  liberty  ;  but  to  be  pushed,  or  not  to  be  pushed, 
are  different  things.  The  nian,  who  is  moved  by  the  physical 
force  of  another,  in  being  moved  performs  no  action,  concern- 
ing which  we  ask,  "  was  the  man  free  in  performing  it  ?'*  If 
he  wills  to  resist,  and  the  act  of  resisting,  whether  it  be  ef- 
fectual or  not,  follows  the  volition,  he  is  free  in  making  some 
sort  of  resistence.  Suppose  a  man,  who  is  standing,  to  be 
pushed.  In  this  he  is  passive.  He  wills  to  resist,  and  ex- 
erts his  muscular  agency  to  push  himself  back  against  the 
person  pressing  him.  In  this  he  is  free.  But  the  force  ap- 
plied to  his  back  is  so  great  that  he  must  either  fall  or  put  one 
foot  before  the  other.  He  prefers  to  keep  on  his  feet,  and 
therefore  wills  to  take  one  step,  in  order,  to  stand.  The  fear 
of  falling,'  the  desire  of  standing,  or  his  reluctance  against 
being  made  to  slide  along  like  a  log,  was  his  motive  for 
willing  to  take  one  step  in  the  direction  in  which  he  was  push- 
ed. The  action  followed  his  volition,  and  in  this  he  was  free. 
In  no  action  in  which  his  liberty  is  concerned,  is  that  liberty 
impaired  or  taken  away.  We  impute  to  him  the  step  he  took, 
and  judge  of  him  by  the  motive  which  influenced  him ;  but 
we  do  not  impute  to  him  the  being  pushed. 

The  influence  of  appetites  and  passions  upon  the  will  is  very 
different  from  physical  impulsion.  If  indeed,  they  have  a 
physical  power  of  pushing,  or  of  excitement,  it  must  be  upon 
some  material  object,  or  animal  constitution.  Passion  and 
appetite  may  cause  the  blood  to  martle  the  cheeks,  may 


VI  /  XOTES. 

quicken  or  diminish  the  pulse,  and  these  animal  operations 
we  do  not  esteem  voluntary  actions.  But  upon  the  will,  ap- 
petite and  passion  can  have  no  animal  or  physical  impulsion. 
They  are  simply  motives  for  volition,  and  no  more  impair  lib- 
erty or  operate  by  a  physical  agency  than  the  coolest  decision 
of  the  judgment,  which  disposes  to  volition. 

According  to  the  principles  of  Dr.  Reid,  no  action  is  ccn- 
sureable  which  proceeds  from  passion,  and  for  no  action  should 
we  blame  a  man,  but  for  such  an  action  as  proceeds  from  a 
decision  of  the  judgment.  Of  course  if  I  will  to  kill  my 
neighbour,  because  I  hate  him  vehemently,  or  will  to  seduce 
his  wife  because  lust,  and  not  cool  judgment  prompts  nic, 
I  am  not  to  be  blamed  by  any  reasonable  being. 

NOTEK.    Page  32. 
Here  are  two  distinct  determinations,  or  volitions ;  the  first 
of  which  relates  to  the  action,  and  the  second  to  the  time  of 
performing  the  action. 

NOTE  L.  Page  38. 
The  habit,  bias,  or  state  of  the  soul,  produced  by  antece- 
dent operations  of  the  mind,  may  be  immanent ;  and  will  re- 
quire a  more  powerful  motive  than  they  present,  to  counter- 
act their  influence  ;  but  every  act  of  the  will  we  think  tran- 
sient. 

NOTE  M.    Page  43. 
When  the  reader  examines  Essay  IV.  ch.  4.  he  is  request- 
ed to  recur  to  this  passage,  that  he  may  have  Dr.  Reid's  au- 
thority against  Dr.  Reid. 

NOTE  N.  Page  70. 
To  feel  the  sensation  of  hunger,  and  desire  food,  we  allow 
to  be  neither  morally  good  nor  evil,  but  for  a  rational  man  to 
act  from  appetite,  is  to  perform  some  action,  which  from  the 
motive  of  appetite  he  wills  to  perform.  This  we  apprehend 
to  be  a  voluntary  action,  for  which  the  agent  is  accountable. 
Were  man  destitute  of  those  faculties  which  constitute  him  a 
rational,  accountable  agent ;  were  he  a  mere  animal,  then 


NOTES.  vn 

we  grant  that  to  act  merely  from  appetite  would  be  neither 
good  nor  ill,  in  a  moral  view.  The  crimes  committed  by  a 
drunkard,  a  glutton,  an  adulterer,  a  debauchee,  are  acts  which 
proceed  from  no  other  motive  than  that  which  is  suggested 
by  appetite  :  and  if  men  are  not  to  be  blamed  for  these,  the 
words  blame,  crime,  fault,  and  transgression,  ought  to  be 
obliterated  from  every  language. 

Much  error  has  arisen  from  the  opinion,  that  all  blame  is  to 
be  imputed  to  the  operations  of  the  will  alone.  It  seems  to  be 
taken  for  an  acknowledged  self-evident  truth,  by  Dr.  Reid, 
when  speaking  of  the  will,  that  virtue  and  vice  are  predicable 
of  nothing  but  volitions.  Indeed  our  author  attempts  to  con- 
vince us,  that  moral  excellence  and  turpitude  are  predicable 
of  such  volitions  only  as  proceed  from  deliberate  judgment, 
without  the  influence  of  any  ardent  desire  or  appetite.  We 
think  it  so  far  from  being  a  self-evident  truth,  that  all  virtue 
and  vice  are  predicable  of  volitions,  to  the  exclusion  of  the 
other  operations  of  the  mind,  that  it  is  not  true  at  all. 

Should  one  man  discover  the  place  in  which  his  neighbour's 
gold  was  deposited,  and  point  it  out  to  his  companions  ;  should 
one  companion  force  the  door  ;  and  should  a  third  accomplice 
bring  off  the  treasure,  for  the  benefit  of  the  trio,  would  any 
man  in  his  senses  affirm,  that  the  second  is  the  only  person 
chargeable  with  burglary,  or  that  any  one  of  them  is  blame- 
able,  in  such  a  sense  as  to  excuse  the  other  two  from  censure 
and  punishment  ?  It  is  equally  improper  to  impute  guilt  or 
blame  to  any  one  faculty  or  operation  of  the  mind,  to  the  ex- 
clusion of  the  co-operating  faculties  from  their  share  of  the 
disgrace. 

The  understanding  perceives  an  object  and  presents  to  the 
will  a  motive  ;  the  will  resolves  that  the  action  contemplated 
and  desired  shall  be  performed ;  the  faculty  of  agency  obeys 
the  mandate  of  the  will,  and  the  crime  is  perpetrated.  Neither 
the  understanding,  nor  the  will,  nor  the  power  of  doing  what 
we  will,  performed  the  act  alone.  It  would  be  most  philo- 
sophical to  say,  that  blame,  fault,  crime,  sin,  are  to  be  at- 
tributed only  to  that  being  toho  is  the  agent  of  actions,  which 
are  contrary  to  the  standard  by  which  those  actions  must  be 
tried.     It  is  this  being,  and  not  his  actions,  which  in  fact  we 

YOL.  IV.  56 


Vm  NOTES. 

accuse,  blame,  and  punish.  Change  the  constitution-  of  thi« 
being,  whom  -vve  call  an  intelligent,  voluntary  agent,  so  that 
he  shall  become  a  mere  animal  agent ;  or  in  other  words, 
change  a  man  into  a  dog,  and  then,  for  the  dog  to  act  merely 
from  appetite  will  be  neither  good  nor  ill,  because  the  canine 
i^ce  are  not  amenable  to  moral  regulations. 

NOTE  O.     Page  81. 
The  remarks,  which  we  offered,  in  the  note  to  the  pre- 
ceding chapter,  are  equally  applicable  to  appetite  and  desire, 
whether  instinctive  or  artificial. 

NOTE  P.  Page  86. 
A  child  certainly  wills,  and  acts  from  volition,  before  he 
Infers  one  judgment  from  others.  He  may  have  many  other 
motives  for  volition  besides  those  which  ai'e  derived  from 
some  syllogism.  He  has  appetite,  desire^  sensations  of  many 
kinds,  belief  of  many  things,  and  separate  judgments  in 
abundance.  From  these  be  may  act,  and  would  be  account- 
able, should  -virtue  never  grow. 

NOTE  Q.    Page  96. 
This  passage  proves  that  Dr.  Reid  did  not  attribute  man's 
disposition  to  do  more  good  than  ill  to  his  fellow  men,  to  any 
moral  or  religious  principle  inherent  in  his  nature. 

NOTE  R.  Page  131. 
jire  rarely  carried  beyond  the  bounds  of  reason.  If  by  the 
bounds  of  reason  our  author  means  those  limits  which  a  sense  of 
duty,  or  conscience  duly  enlightened,  prescribes  for  the  regula- 
tion of  human  conduct,  we  must  think  that  the  benevolent  affec- 
tions are  often  carried  beyond  them.  When  duty  and  the 
benevolent  affections  come  in  competition,  with  the  mass  of 
mankind,  the  latter  regulate  volition  and  conduct,  to  the  ex- 
clusion of  the  former.  Milton,  who  was  not  a  novice  in  the 
knowledge  of  human  nature,  has  represented  Adam  as  say- 
ing to  his  fallen  partner ; 

"  I  with  thee  have  fixM  my  lot. 
Certain  lo  undergo  like  doom  :  if  death 
Consort  with  thee,  death  is  to  me  as  life; 
So  forcible  within  ray  heart  1  feel 
The  bond  of  nature  draw  me  to  my  own." 


NOTES.  *X 

The  same  result  of  affection  is  common  to  men  in  theiv 
native  state,  and  for  this  reason  we  are  solemnly  warned 
against  loving  father,  mother,  brother,  sister,  partner,  child, 
and  the  praises  of  men,  more  than  the  approbation  of  our 
conscience  and  our  Maker. 

NOTE  S.    Page  134. 

It  is  difficult  to  ascertain  what  Dr.  Reid  meant  by  an  irre- 
sistible impulse  of  passion.  He  speaks  of  it  in  many  passa- 
ges, and  declares  that  it  totally  exculpates  a  bad  action. 
Physical  operations  may,  by  a  physical  necessity,  follow 
some  physical  impulse.  Thus  a  bail,  by  the  explosion  of  the 
powder,  is  driven  by  an  irresistible  impulse  from  the  mouth 
of  a  cannon.  But  physical  actions  are  neither  morally  good 
nor  evil.  Surely  our  author  did  not  think,  that  passion  ope- 
rated on  the  understanding,  will,  and  other  powers  of  man, 
in  any  case  by  a  physical  agency.  The  passion  of  anger  may  be 
so  violent,  that  the  immediate  gi-atification  of  it  shall  seem 
the  chief  good,  and  induce  the  enraged  person  to  kill  the  man 
who  excited  the  passion.  The  murderer  thinks  of  nothing 
but  vengeance,  and  is  moved  by  nothing  but  a  determination 
to  indulge  his  wrath.  Does  the  fact,  that  passion  presents  so 
strong  a  motive  to  some  minds  for  the  volition  and  perpetra- 
tion of  wicked  actions,  that  they  never  resist  the  passion,  but 
comply  with  its  dictates,  excuse  the  offender  ?  No  man  ever 
acts  the  part  of  a  voluntary  being,  without  being  moved  by 
some  such  motive  as,  at  the  time  of  volition,  has  more  influ- 
ence than  all  other  considerations.  If  this  is  what  our  author 
calls  an  irresistible  impulse,  then,  according  to  his  account, 
there  are  no  bad  actions  ever  perpetrated.  The  distinction  in 
common  law  between  murder  and  manslaughter  is  more  fa- 
vourable to  our  author's  opinion  than  any  other  of  which  we 
think,  but  this  will  not  justify  it. 

When  one  man  kills  another  from  the  sudden  impulse  of 
passion  without  the  intention  of  killing  him,  it  is  said  to  be 
manslaughter,  and  not  murder,  which  requires  malice  pre- 
pense. Here  it  might  be  said  by  some,  that  the  vehemence  of 
the  irresistible  passion  alleviates  the  crime  of  murder ;  and 
that  the  alleviated  crime  is  designated  by  the  term,  man- 


X  NOTES. 

slaughter.  We  reply,  that  the  killing  of  a  man  from  malev- 
olence long  cherished,  and  after  time  for  reflection,  is  one 
crime  ;  and  killing  of  a  man  immediately,  without  the  pur- 
pose of  killing,  from  passion,  is  another  crime,  less  odious^ 
indeed,  than  the  first ;  but  still,  to  support  his  proposition, 
Dr.  Rcid  should  prove,  that  the  crime  of  manslaughter  may 
become  less  than  it  is,  until  the  same  criminal  act  is  no  crime 
at  all. 

NOTE   T.     Page  152. 

The  word  good^  in  this  essay,  is  used  in  too  bad  a  sense. 
Whatever  makes  a  man  more  hafifiy,  for  a  time,  does  not  al- 
ways make  him  more  fierfcct ;  but  may  degrade  his  charac- 
ter.    That  frequently  appears,  to  our  perverted  understand- 
ings, to  be  best  calculated  to  promote  our  happiness,  which, 
upon  the  whole,  must  prove  essentially  injurious.     As  soon 
as  we  form  the  conception,  that  any  particular  action  will, 
upon  the  whole,  produce  more  pleasure  than  pain,  it  becomes 
an  object  of  desire.     Thus,  when  the  pleasures  of  sensual 
gratification  are  painted  by  the  imagination  in  false  but  fas- 
cinating  colours,  the  enamoured  youth,  in  the  moment  of 
of  temptation,  conceives  that  self-denial  is  a  greater  evil  to 
him  than  the  fear  of  consequences,  and  that  criminal  indul- 
gence will  give  him  sufficient  delight  to  counterbalance  the 
sensation  of  shame  and  the  reproaches  of  conscience.     At 
the  time  of  disQbedience,  every  offender   regards  his  own 
criminal  pleasure  more  than  the  Divine  authority,  and  more 
than  his  own  ultimate  good.     Tnis  chapter  should  be  entitled, 
^'  Of  Regard  to  that  which  seems  most  agreeable  on  the  whole  ,•" 
and  then,  it  would  be  easy  to  prove,  that  in  many  voluntary 
actions  we  are  regulated  by  it.    If  it  seems  more  agreeable  to 
us,  at  the  time  of  volition,  to  indulge  our  passions  and  appe- 
tites, than  to  obey  the  dictates  of  judgment,  and  of  conscience, 
we  act  voluntarily,  however  powerful  may  be  the  passion,  or 
appetite,  which  influences  us,  and  the  action  is  criminal ;  but 
it  would  be  incorrect  to  say,  that  in  this  case  the  agent  had 
regard  to  that  which  was  really  good  upon  the  whole  ;  for  he 
only  regarded  that  whicli  seemed  u][X)n  the  whole  to  be  most 
agreeable. 


NOTES.  X\ 

NOTE  U.  Page  154. 
We  believe  that  intelligent  beings  are  so  constituted,  that 
they  always  will  from  what  appears  to  them,  at  the  time  of 
volition,  to  be  most  agreeable.  When  that  which  is  really  good 
upon  the  whole  is  most  agreeable,  then  we  act  as  rational 
beings  ought.  The  whole  view,  however,  which  is  taken  by 
the  mind,  and  from  which  the  motive  to  volition  is  derived,  is 
often  very  narrow.  The  circle  of  mental  vision  to  the  child, 
and  to  many  men,  is  small.  In  the  natural  man  it  compre- 
hends only  natural  things.  What  upon  the  whole  view  of  a 
wicked  man  seems  most  agreeable  to  him,  he  wills,  in  every 
instance  to  perform.  Hence,  at  different  times,  man's  view 
of  that  which  is  desirable  for  him  is  different.  Were  men  al- 
ways to  see  that  wltich  upon  the  survey  of  their  whole  exist- 
ence is  really  good  for  them,  and  were  it  to  appear  good  to 
them,  so  as  to  become  their  constant  motive  to  volition,  they 
would  always  act  the  part  of  heavenly  wisdom.  Nothing, 
however  is  more  evident  than  this,  that  the  mass  of  mankind, 
do  not  habitually  perceive  that  to  be  good  for  them,  which  ia 
the  judgment  of  their  Maker  is  really  good  upon  the  whole  ; 
really  good  for  them,  when  considered  as  intelligent,  voluntary, 
accountable  agents,  who  are  destined  to  immortality.  Let  it 
be  remembered,  that  man  must  be  "  duly  enlightened,*'  as 
our  author  says  in  the  next  chapter,  and  then  he  will  always 
perceive  his  duty  to  be  that  which  is  his  greatest  good  upon 
the  whole.  In  such  a  case,  he  would  be  excited  to  will  and 
act,  agreeably  to  the  dictates  of  conscience,  and  the  command- 
ments of  his  God. 

NOTE  W.  Page  164. 
He,  who  formed  man,  who  knows  all  his  springs,  who  can 
foresee  all  consequences,  and  who  has  fixed  the  bounds  of  his 
habitation,  and  He  alone,  can  discover  that,  which  upon  the 
whole,  is  good  for  man  ;  and  were  unenlightened  reason  left 
to  pursue  her  inquiries,  she  might  proceed  for  ever,  without 
ascertaining  what  is  the  chief  good.  Of  this  the  investiga- 
tions of  philosophers  and  sages  afford  abundant  proot 


XU  TTOTES, 

NOTE  X.    PaE^e  177. 

A  being  destitute  of  the  faculty  of  the  understanding  cannot 
be  under  a  moral  obligation  to  perceive  the  truth,  or  to  know 
God.  A  being  destitute  of  the  faculty  of  will,  can  be  under 
no  obligation,  from  the  perception  of  his  duty,  to  will  the  per- 
formance of  it ;  and  were  these  two  faculties  to  exist,  in  any 
person,  wit'iout  the  faculty  of  agency,  he  could  be  under  no 
moral  obligation  to  perform  any  actions  which  he  should  will. 
If  our  author  intends  nothing  more,  when  he  says  that  a  Jicr- 
aon  can  be  under  a  moral  obligation,  only  to  things  within  the 
sfihere  of  his  natural  fiower^vre.  are  happy  to  accord  with  him 
in  opinion.  It  is  essential  to  the  existence  of  a  moral  agent, 
that  he  should  have  the  faculties  of  the  human  mind  which  are 
denominated  understanding,  will,  conscience,  and  agency,  and 
that  these  should  be  so  connected  as  we  actually  find  them  in 
a  person,  whom  we  call  a  man  of  sound  mind.  Were  any 
man  so  constituted,  that  the  power  of  agency  did  not  extend 
to  the  regulating  of  his  mental  operations,  he  could  not  be 
a  moral  agent,  under  moral  obligation. 

In  confirmation  of  these  remarks  we  will  slate  a  curious 
phenomenon,  which  may  furnish  the  philosopher  with  matter 
for  speculation,  if  not  for  serious  induction. 

There  is  a  man,  now  living  in  the  State  of  New-York, 
whose  memory  for  some  years  past  has  been  decaying,  with- 
out apparently  affecting  any  of  his  other  powers.  He  was 
formerly,  and  still  continues,  a  man  of  quick  apprehension 
and  ready  wit.  He  is  fond  of  reading,  and  derives  high  en- 
tertainment from  a  sensible  performance.  He  is  capable  of 
enjoying  a  spirited  conversation,  and  of  following  a  rapid 
course  of  ratiocination  ;  he  is  a  man  of  piety,  and  derives 
ittuch  satisfaction  from  public  worship ;  but  for  more  than 
three  years  his  memory  has  extended  no  further  back  than  to 
the  premises'from  which  he  infers  a  conclusion.  He  per- 
ceives a  truth  clearly,  and  remembers  two  propositions  long 
enough  to  deduce  from  them  a  third.  One  might  converse 
with  him  for  a  few  moments,  if  the  conversation  was  kept  up 
with  energy,  without  discovering  any  defect :  but  should  a 
pause  of  five  minutes  take  place,  the  man  without  memorr 


WOTES.  XIII 

might  repeat,  as  if  the  thought  was  new  to  him,  some  shrewd 
i'eniark  made  by  himself  just  before.  He  will  read  with 
smiles  of  approbation  an  entertaining  book  ;  but  should  he  lay- 
it  aside  for  a  little  while,  and  then  take  it  up  again,  he  would 
read  with  the  same  pleasure,  without  remembering  that  he 
had  ever  seen  it  before.  The  names  and  countenances  of  his 
children  he  does  not  remember  from  one  hour  to  another. 
Hence  every  man  is  a  stranger  to  him,  and  no  place  is  home, 
because  he  does  not  remember  to  have  been  there  before. 
To  his  wife  he  has  ever  been  much  attached,  and  when  he 
hears  the  sound  of  her  voice  he  seems  to  have  the  same  re- 
cognition of  her  which  the  irrational  animals  have  of  their 
young.  Take  away  from  the  careful  hen  a  chick  by  stealth, 
and  she  will  never  miss  it ;  but  let  it  utter  cries,  and  she  comes 
forth  to  rescue  it,  with  courage,  which  would  not  disgrace  a 
braver  body.  Should  this  man  be  kept  out  of  the  presence 
of  his  wife  it  is  doubtful  if  he  would  ever  remember  that  he 
had  a  wife.  When  he  walks  out,  he  cannot  tell  whence  he 
came,  and  of  any  previous  purpose  he  has  not  the  least  re- 
membrance. Before  the  loss  of  his  memory  he  was  fond 
of  gardening,  and  still  retains  his  predilection  for  that  employ- 
ment ;  but  to  day  he  will  forget  what  were  his  plans  yester- 
day, and  hence  Ije  is  always  acting  from  present  perceptions. 
One  day  he  found  his  son  in  the  garden,  and  ordered  him  out, 
because  "he  thought  him  some  young  rogue  of  the  village. 
He  hears  a  preacher  of  his  acquaintance,  is  gratified  with  the 
sermon,  but  never  remembers  to  have  heard  or  seen  the 
preacher  before.     Hence  all  things  are  new  to  him. 

Should  this  man  make  a  promise,  we  conceive,  that  if  the 
obligation  to  perform  it  depended  on  the  power  to  remember 
his  voluntary  engagement,  he  would  not  be  under  moral  obli- 
gation to  fulfil  it.  Should  his  memory  be  so  entirely  extir- 
pated, that  he  could  not  remember  premises  long  enough  to 
draw  a  conclusion  from  them,  we  think  he  would  then  cease 
to  be  a  reasonable  and  accountable  agent.  Sometimes  he  evi- 
dently wills  to  remember,  and  makes  the  effort,  but  if  the 
faculty  of  memory  exists,  he  has  not  the  power  of  agency 
over  it.    Should  he  perform  an  action,  which  he  believed  to 


XIV  NOTES. 

be  wrong,  he  would  sin  ;  but  should  he  not  remember  the  name 
of  his  wife,  which  he  often  forgets  ;  or  should  he  not  remem- 
ber a  promise,  which  he  wills  to  remember,  when  he  is 
assured  that  he  has  made  it,  it  would  be  no  crime.  He  is  not, 
at  present,  under  any  moral  obligation  to  remember  the  past, 
any  more  than  to  discern  the  future. 

NOTEY.     Page  181. 

From  which  all  our  hioivledge  of  duty ^  ilfc.  The  moral 
faculty  furnishes  us  with  many  first  principles,  without  which 
we  should  have  no  knowledge  of  duty.  Thus  conscience 
must  testify,  that  we  are  accountable  beings,  and  that  we  ought 
to  obey  the  commands  of  our  Maker.  If  men  were  not  furnish- 
ed with  these  principles,  it  would  be  in  vain  to  urge  upon  them 
the  duty  of  conforming  to  the  will  of  the  Supreme  Being,  even 
when  that  will  is  clearly  revealed.  Should  any  man  destitute  of 
the  dictates  of  conscience  be  told  in  truth,  that  his  Creator  en- 
joined a  particular  duty,  he  might  reply  ;  "  it  is  not  self-evi- 
dent to  me  that  I  ought  to  obey  the  mandates  of  my  Creator." 
It  would  be  difficult  to  prove  to  this  man,  that  there  is  any 
such  thing  as  moral  obligation.  We  grant,  therefore,  that 
self-evident  principles  in  morality  lie  at  the  foundation  of  all 
obedience,  even  in  those  things  which  are  expressly  command- 
ed by  God ;  but  that  all  our  knowledge  of  duty  must  be  deduced 
from  the  first  principles,  to  which  the  moral  faeulty  testifies, 
we  are  constrained  to  deny.  Many  deductions  may  be  made 
concerning  our  duty ;  but  we  may  have  much  knowledge  of 
duty  from  the  positive  comnaandments  of  our  Maker.  No 
axioms  in  morality  would  ever  have  furnished  Abraham  data, 
from  which  he  could  have  deduced  the  moral  obligation  of 
leading  his  son  to  the  altar ;  but  when  a  duty  was  made 
known  by  revelation,  his  moral  faculty  did  undoubtedly  tes- 
tify, that  he  was  in  all  things  bound  to  regard  the  Divine  au- 
thority. It  is  conscience  which  testifies  that  we  are  under 
nioral  obligation  to  obedience ;  but  the  Lawgiver  must  in 
some  manner  reveal  his  pleasure,  before  conscience  can  make 
us  feel  that  we  ought  to  conform  to  any  particular  rule  of  hu- 
man conduct.  * 


SrOTES.  XV 

NOTE  Z.    Page  198. 

It  unfortunately  happens,  that  none  of  these  fair  and  candid 
savages  have  ever  been  found,  by  any  missionary  to  the  hea- 
then. It  is  moreover  certain,  that  when  the  divine  Author  of 
our  religion  was  in  person  upon  earth,  and  presented  a  living 
exhibition  of  his  own  principles,  the  polite  and  learned,  who  were 
far  from  possessing  the  ferocity  of  cannibals,  did  not  perceive 
the  superior  excellence  of  his  Godlike  character.  So  obstinate 
and  blinded  were  they,  that  they  saw  not  his  glory  ;  they  hated 
him,  and  raised  the  cry,  "  crucify  him  1  crucify  him  1"  If  the 
perceptions  of  the  savage  are  rectified  so  easily  as  our  author 
imagines,  it  is  unaccountable  that  the  whole  world  has  not 
long  since  been  converted  to  Christianity. 

NOTE  A  A.    Page  207. 

Concerning  liberty  we  have  already  offered  a  few  remarks ; 
but  it  is  necessary  that  we  should  here  enlarge  upon  the  sub- 
ject. We  speak  of  a  good  man,  a  bad  man,  a  free  man  ;  and 
in  like  manner  of  a  virtuous,  vicious,  and  free  action.  Shall 
we  call  the  goodness  and  badness  of  character,  and  the  virtue 
and  vice  of  actions  four  distinct /cowers  ?  It  would  be  contrar}' 
to  all  established  use  of  language.  It  is  equally  improper  to 
call  liberty  a  power.  What  sort  of  a  power  is  it  ?  Will  Dr. 
Reid  call  it  the  power  of  thinking,  the  power  of  willing,  or  the 
power  of  doing  ?  No  !  for  all  these  are  essential  to  moral  liberty. 
In  this  we  agree  with  him  ;  but  if  liberty  is  a  power,  what  are 
its  operations?  Our  author  says  it  is  "  a  power  over  the  de- 
terminations of  his  own  will."  A  moral  agent,  therefore,  has 
a  faculty  called  liberty,  which  is  employed  in  regulating  the 
determinations  of  his  will.  Let  us  call  this  the  faculty,  or 
power  of  liberty ;  for  so  important  a  power  should  have  a  name  : 
and  let  us  see  what  are  the  operations  of  this  power  of  the 
human  mind,  in  relation  to  the  powers  of  the  understanding, 
of  will,  and  of  agency.  How  does  it  differ  from  the  power  to 
will  ?  The  Doctor  must  answer,  that  the  will  has  for  its  ob- 
ject either  the  same  operations  which  are  proper  to  the  power 
of  liberty,  or  different  operations.  If  the  power  of  liberty 
is  employed  about  those  things  alone,  which  are  regarded  by 

vor.  ly.  57 


the  will,  we  should  think  there  was  no  difference  between  the 
two  faculties.  We  proceed,  therefore,  to  examine  the  suppo- 
sition, that  they  have  different  objects.  The  will  shall  relate 
to  actions  generally,  and  liberty  to  no  mental  actions  but  those 
of  the  will.  We  ask,  does  this  power  of  liberty  produce  voli- 
tions ?  No,  for  volitions  are  the  operations  of  the  faculty  of 
the  will.  Does  man  then,  by  this  power  of  liberty  determine 
what  he  will  choose,  resolve,  or  will  ?  It  is  the  will  which  is 
the  faculty  of  choice,  resolution,  and  volition.  Does  a  man 
by  the  power  of  liberty  determine  what  volitions  he  will  have, 
or  not  have  ?  To  determine  is  the  province  of  the  will,  and 
every  determination  is  an  act  of  the  will,  which  we  call  voli- 
tion. It  seems,  then,  that  this  power  of  liberty,  of  which 
even  Mr.  Locke  speaks,  is  a  power  to  do  nothing,  excepting 
that  which  is  uniformly  ascribed  to  the  will.  No  man  is  con- 
scious of  the  existence,  or  of  the  operations  of  this  power  of 
liberty. 

The  only  question  in  relation  to  this  proposition,  that  liber- 
ty consists  in  a  power  over  the  determinations  of  our  own  will, 
which  is  worthy  of  attention  is  this,  "  does  man  ever  find 
within  himself,  by  attending  to  the  operations  of  his  own  mind, 
that  a  general  volition  to  determine  produces  a  particular  de- 
termination ?"  If  a  man  determines  his  own  will,  he  must  do 
it  by  willing  to  determine  it,  or  without  willing  to  determine  it. 
If  he  determines  it  without  willing  to  do  it,  then  the  determina- 
tion is  involuntary,  and  to  be  excluded  from  the  class  of  moral 
actions.  If  he  determines  his  own  will  in  any  particular  case  it 
must  be  in  one  of  these  two  ways.  Either  he  must  will  in  gen- 
eral to  have  a  determination,  where  he  now  has  none,  and  a 
particular  determination  must  follow ;  or  else,  after  the  resolu- 
tion to  determine,  his  mind  must  perceive  some  motive  for  the 
particular  determination.  In  the  first  case,  no  man  was  ever 
conscious,  that  a  general  resolution  to  determine  ever  pro- 
duced a  particular  determination.  We  will  to  decide  whether 
we  will  drink  white  or  red  wine,  after  dinner.  A  determina- 
tion to  drink  white  wine  does  not  follow  this  general  detenni- 
nation,  neither  does  a  determination  to  drink  the  red  :  but 
we  have  determined  to  drink  one  or  the  other,  and  to  deter- 
mine which  we  will  drink.     If  a  particular  resolution  to  drink 


NOTES.  XVM 

one  of  them,  and  not  the  other,  was  connected  with  the  gen- 
eral determination  to  choose  one  of  them,  even  as  the  act  of 
speaking  follows  the  will  to  speak,  we  should  then  affirm, 
that  liberty  extended  even  to  the  determinations  of  our  own 
will. 

In  the  case  of  the  wine,  we  find,  that  after  we  have  resolved 
to  make  a  choice,  it  is  necessary  for  us  to  perceive  some 
reason  for  a  choice,  so  that  a  choice  does  not  follow,  and  may 
never  follow  a  determination  to  choose.  Our  determination 
never  produces,  by  any  power  of  agency  which  our  Maker 
has  given  us,  another  determination ;  and  therefore  we  will, 
we  determine,  we  choose,  we  prefer,  we  decide,  but  do  not 
by  one  volition  immediately  generate  another.  Liberty,  we 
conclude,  therefore,  does  not  consist  in  a  power  which  man 
does  not  possess.  Liberty,  we  have  shown,  in  a  previous  note, 
is  exactly  commensurate  with  that  connection  which  subsists 
between  the  power  of  willing  and  of  doing  ;  and  lies  rather  in 
that  connection  than  in  any  or  all  of  the  powers  of  man.  To 
constitute  man  a  free  agent,  it  is  no  more  necessary  that  a 
man  should  have  power  to  cease  from  volition,  than  that  he 
should  have  power  to  abstain  from  thought ;  and  to  give  him 
the  power  of  not  willing  what  he  actually  wills,  you  must  com- 
municate the  art  of  not  perceiving  that  to  be  desirable  which  he 
perceives  to  be  desirable.  Human  liberty  does  not  extend  so 
far  ;  neither  is  man  left  by  his  constitution  to  disbelieve  his 
senses ;  why  then  complain  that  we  will  according  to  our  per- 
ception of  motives  ? 

NOTE  BB.  Page  209. 
The  term  necessary  we  think  should  never  be  applied  to 
moral  actions  ;  and  we  regret  that  president  Edwards  in  his 
inquiry  into  the  will  has  produced  some  confusion  in  the  minds 
of  lus  readers  by  using  it  sometimes  in  a  common,  and  some- 
times in  a  philosophical  sense.  The  word  necessity,  to  most 
minds  conveys  the  notion  of  something  more  than  certainty, 
or  the  futurition  of  an  event,  and  we  could  therefore  wish  the 
word,  with  all  its  derivatives,  to  be  used  only  in  the  common 
sense.  JVecessary  is  opposed  to  t; o/wrarary,  in  most  discourses 
about  human  actions,  and  we  think  it  as  absurd  to  speak  of 


XVlll  NOTES. 

necessary  moral  actions,  as  of  involuntary  moral  actions ;  or  of 
the  actions  of  a  being,  who  is  destitute  of  the  faculty  of  the  wilL 
That  moral  actions  may  be  certain  to  the  mind  of  the  Deity, 
and  yet  free  in  man,  we  think  may  be  proved  to  the  satisfac- 
tion of  all  candid  and  thinking  men.  Tiie  certain  futurition 
of  an  event  in  no  wise  effects  the  liberty  of  moral  agents  in 
any  of  their  moral  actions,  any  more  than  the  remembrance 
of  past  action*  deprives  the  agent  who  performed  them  of 
his  freedom. 

NOTE   CC.    Page  212. 

If  this  assertion  is  true,  then  a  man  wills  without  perception, 
and  without  any  reason  :  he  wills  without  knowing  why,  and 
what  he  wills.  We  should  think,  that  in  every  voluntary  ac- 
tion the  intelligent  being  must  first  perceive  both  the  action 
which  he  contemplates  performing,  and  the  reason  which  in- 
duces him  to  will  its  performance.  We  conceive  that  he 
must  then  will  to  do  it,  and  that  the  willing  of  an  action  is 
distinct  from  the  actual  performance  of  it,  although  the  ac- 
tion instantaneously  follows  the  volition. 

NOTE  D  D.  Page  233. 
No  one  thinks  that  motives  have  any  concern  with  mechan- 
ical motion,  or  with  any  operations  which  exist  by  a  physical 
necessity.  All  involuntary  actions  we  exclude  from  the  class 
of  moral  actions ;  but  all  actions  which  are  performed  by  a 
being  who  possesses  conscience,  in  consequence  of  volition, 
we  deem  moral.  They  relate  to  some  law,  and  for  them  we 
are  accountable.  What  connection,  then,  subsists  between  a 
motive  and  a  moral  action  ?  The  motive  is  not  an  agent,  we 
allow:  neither  is  it  a  power.  It  does  not  exercise  any  efficien- 
cy in  producing  the  action,  nor  is  the  thing  which  immedi- 
ately precedes  a  moral  action.  The  power  of  agency  in  mor- 
al things  is  immediately  connected  with  the  operations  of 
the  will.  We  will  to  do  forthwith  a  moral  action,  and  where 
the  power  of  agency  exists,  the  doing  of  it  immediately  fol- 
lows. If  it  did  not,  we  should  conclude  that  the  connection 
between  willing  and  doing  was  suspended,  or  annihilated, 
and  of  course,  that  we  were  no  longer  free  beings.     No  mo- 


SrOTES.  SIX 

tive,  no  operation  of  the  mind  intervenes  between  willing,  and 
doing  what  they  will,  in  persons  of  whom  we  predicate  moral 
liberty.  Shoul4  any  one  ask,  ivhy  we  performed  a  moral  ac- 
tion ?  it  would  be  sufficient  to  answer, "  because  we  willed  it.'* 
But  let  the  same  person  ask,  '♦  why  did  you  will  it  ?"  and  the 
true  answer  will  exhibit  the  motive  to  volition.  Motives 
have  influence  directly  on  the  faculty  of  the  will ;  and  only 
indirectly,  that  is  through  the  will,  or  the  faculty  of  agency. 
Dr.  Reid  should  have  answered  this  question, "  does  a  ration- 
al being  ever  will  without  a  motive  to  volition  ?  We  believe 
not,  for  we  are  not  conscious  of  willing  without  the  percep- 
tion, or  sensation,  or  imagination  of  something,  vshich  induces, 
or  influences  us,  to  volition.  If  men  ever  did  will  without 
motive,  it  would  be  absurd  to  ask  the  motive  for  those  voli- 
tions :  but  we  are  acquainted  with  no  operations  of  the  will 
concerning  which  it  is  improper  to  ask  the  intelligent  author 
of  them,  why  he  chose,  why  he  willed.  Indeed,  if  it  Avere 
absurd  to  ask  the  reason  or  motive  for  any  volition,  it  would 
be  absurd  to  say,  that  man  was  accountable  for  such  volition, 
or  for  the  action  which  followed  it.  Dr.  Reid  himself  grants, 
in  a  subsequent  paragraph,  that  it  is  self-evident,  that  an  action 
done  without  any  motive  can  neither  have  merit,  nor  demerit. 
This  is  an  acknowledgment  that  no  moral  actions  exist  with- 
out some  connection,  mediate  or  immediate,  v/ith  motives  ; 
but  still  our  author  afiirms,  that  innumerable  actions  are  done 
without  a  motive,  which  nevertheless  are  done  with  "  a  cool 
and  calm  determination  of  the  mind,  with  forethought  and 
will."  It  follows,  then,  from  Dr.  Reld's  statement,  that  many, 
yea  innumerable  actions,  are  done  from  volition,  from  a  cool 
and  calm  determination,  which  are  not  moral  actions.  Here 
are  cool,  calm,  preconceived,  determined,  voluntary  actions, 
which  are  not  moral  actions.  What  are  they  ?  What  is 
wanting  in  the  description  to  make  them  come  up  to  the  stand- 
ard of  actions  for  which  as  rational  and  voluntary  agents  we 
are  accountable  ? 

NOTE  E  E.     Page  233. 
An  argument  may  not  have  been  the  motive  for  tliose  thou- 
iapd  "  trifling  actions'*  which  the  Doctor  performed,  or  for 


s; 


XX  STATES. 

his  willing  to  do  them ;  but  had  it  been  demanded  of  him,  con- 
cerning the  most  trivial  voluntary  act,  why  he  willed  to  per- 
form it,  we  think  he  would  have  given  such  an  answer  as 
would  have  shown  the  motive.  A  sensation,  an  agreeable  or 
a  disagreeable  feeling,  a  principle,  or  habit,  may  influence  us 
to  will,  to  choose,  to  prefer,  as  well  as  a  judgment,  or  an  argu- 
ment. 

NOTE  FF.  Page  233. 
This  will  not  prove,  that  any  volition  ever  exists  without 
tlie  perception  of  some  motive.  A  man  wills  to  purchase  a 
loaf  of  bread.  This  is  one  volition.  Any  one  of  two  hundred 
shillings,  which  he  possesses,  will  buy  the  loaf.  He  puts  his 
hand  into  his  bag  of  treasure,  and  touches  a  shilling.  He 
wills  to  take  it.  Here  is  another  volition.  He  did  not  will  to 
take  it,  because  he  believed  one  shilling  better  than  another, 
but  because  he  had  determined  to  take  one,  and  because  he 
first  felt  this,  which  he  has  taken  out,  and  which  he  gives  to 
the  baker.  He  might  have  opened  his  chest,  and  the  two 
hundred  shillings  might  have  covered  the  bottom.  One  he 
does  not  prefer  to  the  other,  from  any  judgment  that  they  dif- 
fer in  value,  and  therefore  no  such  judgment  influences  him 
to  take  one  in  preference  to  another.  Some  other  motive 
must  influence  him  to  the  volition  of  taking  one.  He  has  re- 
solved to  purchase  a  loaf;  he  wills  to  put  forth  his  hand  for 
one  of  the  pieces ;  he  touches  the  one  which  is  nearest,  Avhen 
his  hand  is  stretched  out,  because  it  is  nearest ;  or  the  one 
on  which  he  has  fixed  his  eye,  because  it  is  the  particular  ob- 
ject of  his  vision :  and  he  takes  the  shilling  which  he  Avilled 
to  take.  Suppose  that  a  man  has  two  shilhngs  in  his  pocket, 
and  takes  them  both  out,  when  he  would  buy  a  loaf  The 
shillings  are  of  equal  value  ;  but  one  is  bright,  and  the  other 
dirty.  He  gives  the  dirty  one  into  the  hand  of  the  baker, 
not  because  he  judged  that  one  would  not  purchase  the  loaf, 
and  accomplish  his  end,  as  well  as  the  other ;  but  because  he 
was  pleased,  for  some  other  reason,  than  the  intrinsic  value  of 
the  money,  to  keep  the  new  coin. 


NOTES.  XXJ 

NOTE    GG.    Page  234. 

From  the  actual  doing  of  any  thing,  we  form  the  relative 
conception  of  agency:  from  the  act  of  willing  we  derive 
the  notion  of  a  power  to  will ;  and  no  one  thinks  of  asking, 
«  could  I  will,  or  act  without  motive  l"  in  order  to  gain  the 
idea  of  power.  The  consideration  of  motives  is  not  necessa- 
ry to  the  conception  of  power.  It  is  strange,  indeed,  that  Dr. 
Reid  did  not  think  of  the  doctrine  of  this  paragraph,  when  he 
wrote  his  first  Essay  on  Power.  We  have  no  power  of  choice, 
it  seems,  no  power  of  eating,  nor  of  drinking,  nor  of  walking, 
unless  we  can  choose,  eat,  drink,  and  walk,  without  being 
able  to  assign  any  motive  for  our  conduct.  The  perfection  of 
power  then,  in  a  rational  being,  must  consist  in  acting  without 
knowing  why  he  acts  ;  and  in  operations  for  which  he  can 
assign  no  reason ! 

It  is  not  true,  that  we  have  no  power  of  regulating  those 
perceptions,  which  commonly  prove  motives  to  action,  and  in 
this  manner  of  exercising  power  over  our  motives.  By  past 
experience,  we  know  that  when  looking  upon  certain  objects 
we  have  felt  certain  sensations,  which  have  induced  us  to  will, 
and  perform,  such  actions  as  we  now  condemn.  In  conse- 
quence of  the  censure  which  we  pass  on  ourselves,  and  of 
of  the  pain  which  we  feel  in  the  remembrance  of  trans- 
gression, we  resolve  to  exclude  such  motives  in  future.  To 
accomplish  this,  we  close  our  eyes,  or  turn  away  from  those 
seductive  objects,  the  perception  of  which  would  give  us  such 
sensations  as  would  prove  motives  for  the  repetition  of  those 
actions,  which  we  reprobate.  It  is  in  this  way  that  we  are 
bound  to  "  keep  our  hearts  with  all  diligence  ;"  and  by  regu- 
lating our  mental  operations  we  may  present  such  motives  as 
will  influence  to  almost  any  course  of  conduct,  which  we  re- 
solve to  pursue.  Without  the  power  and  the  habit  of  regulat- 
ing motives,  no  'man  of  appetite  and  passion  would  be  habitu- 
ally virtuous  in  his  moral  actions. 

NOTE    HH.    Page  234. 
Motives  are  not,  like  weights  and  measures,  permanent 
things.     That  perception,  which  in  one  state  of  the  mind  was 
a  motive  to  volition,  may  not  influence  the  man  in  another. 


XXII  NOTES. 

He  may  think  of  an  action,  and  he  may  perceive  that  which 
was  once  a  motive  to  action,  but  which  is  now  insufficient  to 
move  him.  In  relation  to  the  willing  of  any  one  action  he 
may  perceive  something  which  proves  a  motive  to  many,  and 
which  has  proved  a  motive  to  him  in  former  times,  without 
feeling  at  present  any  inclination  to  act  from  it.  "We  are  con- 
scious, however,  that  in  every  case  of  volition,  we  will  because 
the  perception  of  something,  simple  or  complex,  presents  at 
the  time  of  willing  a  sufficient  inducement.  Strictly  speak- 
ing, tnerefore,  a  man  never  has  a  motive  on  more  than  one 
side  to  any  individual  action.  That  which  actually  moves 
him-to  will  is  his  motive  ;  and  that  which  once  moved  him  to 
will  the  opposite  to  his  present  volition  is  now  no  motive  at  all. 
When  we  speak  of  opposite  motives,  we  intend  such  con- 
siderations as  influence  different  men  to  different  volitions, 
and  even  the  same  person,  at  different  times,  to  opposite  acts 
of  the  will.  Let  this  be  duly  considered,  and  the  reader  will 
not  require  any  remarks  on  the  subsequent  section,  about  the 
strongest  motive. 

NOTE  ir.  Page  246. 
Since  the  perfection  of  moral  liberty,  according  to  Dr.  Reid, 
consists  in  the  power  to  determine  without  any  motive,  and 
since  brutes  and  madmen  will  without  motives,  according  to 
the  same  author,  we  must  infer,  that  brutes  and  madmen  pos- 
sess in  a  pre-eminent  degree  moral  liberty.  How  then  can 
the  Doctor  think  that  their  injurious  actions  are  not  criminal  I 
"We  should  say,  that  children  in  non-age,  if  they  are  not  infants, 
are  charged  with  crimes,  both  by  their  natural  guardians, 
and  their  Maker.  Of  irresistible  fiassion  we  have  said  enough. 
But  brutes  and  madmen  we  exculpate,  because  they  want  one 
or  more  of  those  powers,  which  are  indispensably  requisite  to 
constitute  a  moral  agent  We  have  no  evidence  that  brutes 
possess  the  faculty  of  conscience,  or  the  power  of  perceiving 
moral  obligation.  Madmen  are  disordered  in  mind  ;  their 
powers  are  deranged,  and  their  volitions  do  not  depend  on  the 
perception  of  motives,  or  their  perceptions  are  so  erroneous, 
from  physical  necessity,  that  we  cannot  blame  them. 


NOTES.  XXIU 

NOTE  KK.     Page  249. 
The  faculties  of  intellect,  will,  agency,  and  conscience,  must 
all  be  conjoined  to  constitute  a  person  capable  of  moral  lib- 
erty. 

NOTE  LL.    Page  251. 
From  these  same  topics  we  might  prove,  that  man  perceives 
a  motive,  is  conscious  of  obligation,  wills  an  action,  and  has 
power  to  perform  it ;  which  are  all  comprehended  in  our  no- 
tion of  moral  liberty. 

NOTE  MM.     Page  258. 
This  is  very  good  evidence  to  support  our  doctrine,  that  the 
fwuier  of  doing  does  not  extend  to  the  will ;  unless   it  be 
through  the  medium  of  th»understanding. 

NOTE  N  N.     Page  259. 
Of  course  no  man  can  persuade  himself  that  he  is  excusa- 
ble for  any  bad  action  which  proceeds  from  passion.     Here 
our  author's  good  sense  entered  a  protest  against  his  erroneous 
speculations. 

NOTE  O  O.  Page  260. 
We  answer,  that  the  reason  is  not  to  be  found  in  the  degree 
of  influence,  but  in  t'le  nature  of  the  motive,  and  in  the  char- 
acter of  the  mind,  which  is  discovered  by  the  nature  of  the 
motive.  Let  us  state  the  case  more  equitably  in  order  to 
gain  an  accurate  result.  To  a  miser  such  a  bribe  is  offered 
for  the  disclosure  of  a  secret  as  he  cannot  refuse  without 
feeling  twenty  degrees  of  pain,  and  therefore  he  divulges  it. 
To  avoid  precisely  the  same  quantity  of  pain  by  the  rack, 
another  man  under  similar  obligations  discloses  that  which 
he  should  conceal.  Why  do  mankind  censure  the  miser 
most  ?  Both  sought  to  avoid  twenty  degrees  of  pain,  and  by 
the  supposition,  the  motive  to  the  mind  of  each  man  was 
equally  strong.  We  apprehend,  that  the  nature  of  the  mo- 
tive and  the  character  of  the  mind  make  the  difference.  To 
do  a  bad  action  from  the  inordinate  love  of  money  is  certainly 
>oL.  IV.  58 


XXI?  NOTES. 

more  base,  than  to  perform  the  same  external  action  from 
dread  of  such  pain  as  is  a  natural,  but  not  a  moral  evil. 

NOTE  PP.  Page  261. 
Of  course,  a  wicked  man  has  only  to  form  inveterate  hab- 
its in  sin,  and  then  he  may,  without  incurring  any  more  guilt, 
add  transgression  to  transgression  through  eternity.  Joyful 
doctrine  this  for  the  habitual  thief,  drunkard,  debauchee,  and 
even  for  damned  spirits  !  Can  men  thus,  escape  from  those 
obligations  which  God  has  imposed  on  them  ?  Docs  the 
governor  of  men  treat  his  subjects,  who  have  formed  vicious 
habits,  as  innocent  persons  ? 

NOTE  Q  Q.     Page  263. 
We  should  say  five  things,  understanding,  the  moral  sense, 
will,  and  agency,  with  a  due  connection  subsisting  in  our  men- 
tal constitution  between  them. 

NOTE  R  R.  Page  265. 
This  is  an  important  truth.  The  creditor  may  hold  the 
note  of  hand  until  the  last  cent  is  paid.  Our  Maker  too,  may 
hold  us  liable  to  suffer  all  the  consequences,  which  by  his 
juitice  result  from  our  degradation,  and  consequent  inability 
to  render  sinless  obedience  to  his  laws. 

NOTE  S  S.  Page  269. 
Man  has  intellect  to  conceive  a  plan  and  perceive  motives 
for  willing  to  act  upon  it ;  he  has  power  to  will,  and  from 
volition  to  prosecute  the  system  of  conduct.  He  has  power 
to  recall  the  same  perceptions,  which  at  first  induced  him  to 
Tvrsolve  on  any  course  of  conduct,  and  from  the  same  motive, 
or  from  other  motives  of  similar  tendency,  to  will  a  prosecu- 
tion of  Jtiis  purpose.  He  has  also  power  to  will  a  continued 
course  of  action  from  this  motive,  that  he  has  previously  re- 
solved upon  such  a  continuation.  This  chapter  abundantly 
proves  that  man  is  free  in  the  contrivance,  volition,  and  exe- 
cution of  a  plan,  and  that  he  has  some  power  to  recall  and 
present  motives  to  the  will,  but  it  affords  not  the  shadow  of 


NOTES.  XXV 

evidence,  that  man  can  will  without  motive,  or  by  one  act  of 
volition  immediately  produce  another. 

NOTE  T  T.     Page  ItT. 

If  a  sufficient  reason  and  a  motive  are  synonymous,  then 
the  obvious  meaning  of  the  question  is,  "  was  there  a  motive 
sufficient  to  induce  the  man  to  will  the  action  ?"  This  is  not  a 
question  concerning  the  moral  character  of  an  action.  The 
questions  too,  will  a  certain  volition  and  action  certainly  fol- 
low the  perception  of  a  sufficient  motive  ?  and  must  a  certain 
volition  and  action  necessarily  follow  the  perception  of  a  suffi- 
cient motive  ?  are  according  to  the  common  use  of  language, 
widely  different.  The  certain  futurition  of  events,  and  the  ne- 
cessary futurition  of  events  are  not  the  same,  unless  certain- 
ty and  necessity  mean  the  same  thing.  Were  we  to  re- 
ceive the  power  of  foreseeing  future  events,  as  we  remem- 
ber the  past,  we  might  be  certain  of  the  existence  of  those 
voluntary  actions,  which  shall  proceed  from  choice,  and  not 
from  necessity.  Our  author's  arguments  are  good  against 
physical  necessity,  but  not  against  what  is  commonly  called 
moral  certainty.  It  is  for  the  last  which  president  Edwards 
contends.  He  calls  it  a  philosophical  necessity,  by  which  he 
intends  nothing  more  than  Dr.  Reid  does  by  the  absolute  cer- 
tainty of  future  events. 

NOTE  UU.     Page  3 10. 

Of  two  moral  evils  we  may  choose  neither ;  but  in  relation 
to  natural  evils  the  maxim  is  sound. 


FINIS. 


'^^ 


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